Big Toy blues

By: CADE GRUNST

Posted: 2/1/08

I know I'm living in a godless universe when my kid sis tells me she isn't supposed to play tag at school. Tag requires running, you see, and running's been outlawed on the blacktop. I suggested Hot Lava Monster, but it turns out there's no running in, on, around or in the same hemisphere as the jungle gym, either. In fact, as near I can tell she's not allowed to run anywhere during recess, restricting herself instead to a stately walk designed to simultaneously minimize near-mortal injuries and crush the joy out of children everywhere.

Nonsense, I say.

Loyal Reader, think back on the various accidents you undoubtedly had while terrorizing the local playgrounds back in the day. Yeah, you probably got hurt once or even a dozen times. But you got back up, brushed yourself off and returned to the fray - a valuable life-skill I'm afraid my sister might miss.

Just comparing her Big Toy with those from a mere decade ago makes me cringe. For example, Naomi's slides are all plastic. Now where's the fun in that? Who wants a slide that won't heat up to a thousand degrees in the summer, setting any child foolish enough to brave it aflame? Who could forget the joys of the metal twisty-slides; they had those excellent seams between the steel sheets that were just perfect for ripping off reams of flesh from unwitting tots.

When was the last time anyone saw a merry-go-round? As a red-blooded American, I fully support any institution that demands using smaller children as projectiles flung from the center by massive, hulking seventh-grade might. And what ever happened to decent, God-fearing tire swings, the ones whose bearings were unreasonably well-oiled. You could spin so fast in those beasts that if you blew chunks you'd end up hitting yourself in the face on your next revolution, always a comedic winner among males aged six to 12.

Even the groundcover's been downgraded. Naomi runs - wait, scratch that - walks in a dignified manner over soft, well-padded rubber. We had sand. When you fell in sand, you didn't bounce. You stopped like you'd hit a wall. Its only remedial effect was to leave the imprint of your prone form, so you could check your landing's efficiency. Even wood chips would be an improvement. They at least have the common decency to give kids splinters, even if you can't properly break an arm on them.

Aside from the countless scrapes, bruises, abrasions and bumps that are an integral part of the playground experience, the only real hospitalization-requiring injury I ever received was a second-degree burn on my foot. Venturing towards the bathroom, I inadvertently stepped on a grilling coal someone had tossed carelessly on the ground. No amount of parental protection or schoolyard safety measures could have prevented me from hurting myself, so why bother trying? I'm not advocating leaving rusty nails scattered about; I just want my kids exposed to a reasonable amount of danger each and every day. Is that so much to ask?

I offer as a counterexample Berkeley's Adventure Playground. Located near the marina, the park is a do-it-yourself play structure for anyone over seven. Kids sign in, grab a hammer, paint, nails or a saw and go crazy building their dream forts. The result is an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colorful designs and fanciful constructions that's perfect for their creators. Staff is on hand to ensure overall structural integrity and to prevent anyone from successfully sawing off their faces, but they generally stay on the sidelines where they belong. The Adventure Playground pretty effectively refutes the notion that children need to be constantly coddled in order to avoid injury, showing instead that even a second-grader can be trusted with a massive serrated blade if given a little instruction beforehand.

CADE GRUNST wants to hear about the preposterously hazardous equipment from your childhood. Tell him at cade@ucdavis.edu.