The Classic Playground

Do you ever miss the classic things in life? Like cars that can be repaired without an advanced degree in computer technology or moms that raise their own kids and have dinner on the table when dad gets home? Or maybe you miss things like playground equipment that incites joy, danger, and terror all at once. Think of the classics that are gone: the teeter totter, the merry-go-round, tall swings, and metal slides. Cities and schools have to pass bond measures just to afford all the ultra-safe gadgetry that the litigators now require.

Fortunately, all is not a loss. Several years back I acquired one of these playground classics. Made of steel tubing and sheet metal, our backyard slide is seven feet tall and capable of generating autobahn speeds. As I look at our slide, I often find myself caught in a quandary between protecting my children and allowing them to have some innocent child-like fun. One day it hit me, perhaps by removing the brick and lava rock that surround the bottom of the slide, I could provide a safer place for my kids to play while also allowing them to experience the thrill of sliding toward the ground like a bobsled in winter.

Last weekend, I started the process. The first step toward making our playground safer was to remove the bricks that separate the lava rock from the Palm Springs Gold gravel (another classic combination). The brick removal was actually quite simple since they were not mortared into place, but it was a tedious job. While I picked up bricks, my five-year-old son, Zach, quietly played in the rocks.

“Hey buddy,” I called out to him. “You wanna help?”

“Not really,” he replied.

Thinking fast, I added, “I’ll pay you a penny for every brick you pick up.”

“So if I pick up a hundred bricks, you’ll give me a dollar?” he asked.

“Yup,” I replied. Dropping his rocks he got to work carefully placing his bricks in a separate pile than mine. He started with the bricks that were closest to the fence and counted aloud as he stacked them, “One cent, two cents, three cents…” After a few minutes, the walk from the row of bricks to the pile by the fence started getting longer, so I offered a solution. “I’ll just toss them to you and you stack them,” I suggested. He liked this idea and kept on eagerly working.

“Eighteen cents, 19 cents, 20 cents…” he continued as I tossed brick after brick. I must have gotten carried away with my tossing at some point because the counting was replaced by a loud howl. Being the naturally curious father that I am, I glanced his way as the howls grew louder.

“What’s up, bud?” I asked, knowing exactly what the answer was as I looked at his finger caught between two bricks. So much for making the playground safer.

“You threw that brick at me and it smashed my finger!” he informed me in the least rational voice he could muster.

“Let me teach you about a thing called worker’s compensation,” I said. “You see, when you get hurt at work, your boss pays you extra money. So I’m going to give you a five cent bonus if you can stop crying right now and get back to work.”

“You mean I only have to pick up 95 bricks to get a dollar?”

“Yup, only 95 bricks,” I answered.

“What number was I at?”

“Thirty-one,” I replied.

“Thirty-two cents, 33 cents, 34 cents...” Crisis averted. We were back in business. By the time we had to stop for the night, he was up to 46 bricks and 51 cents (due to the worker’s comp bonus).

“Dad, can I come back out and work some more in the morning before school?”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “My bookworm, academic, brainiac son wants to do manual labor before going to school?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. And that’s exactly what he did. By the time he left for school this morning, he was up to 85 cents.

What have I created? I can see it now. Once the brick and gravel are gone and the teeter-totter and slide are safely resting on cushiony rubber chips, Zach is going to ask, “Dad, can I have a penny every time I go up and down on the teeter-totter with Maddie?”

“Sure, Buddy, but no more worker’s comp claims, okay?”