I used to be the crown jewel of the
community. The epicenter of a neighborhood. Birthday parties and family picnics
were held under the shade of my trees. Softball and football games and Easter
egg hunts were played in my manicured fields. The laughter of children danced
on every breeze and the rhythm of bouncing basketballs played perfect harmony
with of measured steps of lovers taking a stroll. I was the hallowed ground of
children. When you had a bad day at school or a tough day at home. You turned
to me, your one spot where you felt safe, happy and free.
But times I have changed. I
still exist but my role has diminished. Community planners and civil engineers
place me strategically in sprawling communities of copycat homes and
apartments. I am a footnote in their designs. I am displayed as an afterthought
to entice the young family with toddlers that this community is "kid
friendly and warm." But who is to blame? Is there a ominous villain in the
shadows with a secret plot against me? Or has time simply marched on and left
me as little more than a cloudy memory of days long ago?
I think that the thing
that changed our communities and changed me was not a simple passage of time.
It was the slow and steady erosion of the most critical element of any
community. Trust. The trust is gone. If you were born in any year prior to 2000
you can fondly remember getting on your bike, your skateboard, your scooter or
in some cases just walking to your friend's house and then playing for hours in
the park. Children of the second millennium are usually driven by their parents
to play dates that have been planned and have contingencies and conditions that
dwarf the Geneva Convention.
I miss my bike racks
being filled with a rainbow of children's bikes. Waves of kids meeting to play
hop scotch, jump rope or play catch. I miss being the site of the most epic
snow ball fights in the neighborhood's history. I miss the basketball courts
being filled with kids playing shirts versus skins. I miss their gleeful
screams as they play tag, hide and seek or dodgeball. But more than anything
else, I miss the love. I was their playground and they loved me.
Does this new
generation of children not have the motor skills to make the arduous trek to
the park or lack a sense of direction to find the park? The fault is not with
them, although parents criticize them for being lazy and unadventurous and
antisocial. The fault lies in the parents. The parents fear for their child's
safety. If a child is out of the sight of their parent or caretaker, then they
are now a fresh sheep for the wolves of society. Society is not any more or
less dangerous but the access to information and bombardment of media has
turned parents into gatekeepers and watchdogs.
Of course we must be
the protectors of our children. But we must also remember that a bird that is
trapped in a cage never learns how to fly. For fear of their children's well-being
and safety, parents would rather their children play in the parking lots of
their apartment complexes or the minimal grass patches of their townhouses. We
must let our children run and fall and scrape their knees. We must teach our
children to be smart, careful, and weary of strangers. But we must also teach
them to be independent, kind and capable of making new friends.
My swings only swing
when the breeze moves them to sway, silently antagonizing me. My see-saws and
slides are more often used by daredevil squirrels than rambunctious first
graders. But I do still have my moments of joy. When newlyweds use my scenic
beauty as the backdrop of their wedding memories, when a family's generations
meet around my picnic tables to tell stories of their rich and dynamic pasts
and praise the promise and possibilities for their futures.
This isn't my call for
recreational Armageddon to usher in a new era of children that redefine my role
as the neighborhood park. I don't expect new legislation and politicians to fly
my banner as one of their campaign promises. Imagine that. An elected official
promising to have a focus on infrastructure enhancement, on community
enrichment and beautification and properly utilizing public land to best serve
the public.
So what do I want? What
is my purpose for writing this? I want you to promise to do something that I
always hear people talking about when they speak of celebrities and athletes
and those that they consider have "made it." But this request isn't
for the rich and famous or the poor and destitute. It's for everyone. I want
you to remember where you came from. I want you to remember that you are a
child of the playground. I want you to remember all the good memories that we
shared. Sacrifice one day a week to put down your electronics.
Challenge your children
to abandon their smart phones and tablets and game consoles and use their
imaginations making up a new game or enjoy the pure adrenaline rush of seeing
how high they can climb, how fast they can run or how far they can jump. Come
play on my jungle gym and imagine you are swinging from vine to vine through an
African jungle like Tarzan. Come ride my swings, close your eyes and pretend
you're flying high like Superman or Wonder Woman. Come and take a spin on my
merry go round. Dizzily enjoying the moment.
So the next time you
are racing from one cul de sac to the next, ushering your precious cargo to and
fro, keep your eyes open for me. Whether you live in a bustling metropolis, a
quiet suburb or a rural farm town. I'm your neighborhood playground. I hope to
see you soon.
