I remember a college acquaintance opining that safer playgrounds were to blame for the decline of hardihood and determination in American youth. It is, of course, a bit ironic for a 20-year-old to be griping about the moral failings of American youth, but it is an argument that has stayed with me. His idea was that kids used to be able to take risks on the playground, but that increasingly playgrounds were being redesigned with added padding and less dangerous equipment.
Twenty-odd years later, it's even more conspicuous. My kids gripe about it too: one of the playgrounds near our house is much less fun than it used to be. They took out the merry-go-round; they took out the funky metal spider you could climb all over (rickety, blazing hot in summer, covered in peeling paint of uncertain vintage). There's one of those green and beige plastic structures in place now: safe and boring.
For years I have wanted my kids to play hard on the playground: to get stronger, to figure out new skills, to wear themselves out so they would take longer naps. (Wait, perhaps I shouldn't admit my secret agenda.) I have rolled my eyes inwardly at parents who seemed to want to control the playground experience. "No, no, Sadie!" they say. "We go UP the steps and DOWN the slide." Isn't it more fun to go up the slide and then down the slide some more? Is there a rule against going up the slide? Aside from the Big Rule, of course: Don't Be A Jerk. If someone's waiting to go down the slide, or heading up the ladder in preparation for going down the slide, then you don't go up the slide. If there are littler kids around, you are vigilant about their safety even if you have to slow down your own fun. Courtesy trumps fun. But fun is the reason we have playgrounds, isn't it?
And then. Friday. My little guy's little body, the body I bore and nursed and diapered and tended -- motionless after that horrifying thud.
I would insert a joke here about bubble wrap, but I can't even joke. We're scheduled to go back to that park for swim lessons tomorrow, and I don't want to go. This is the wrong thing to take from his accident. Even as I was biking home that day, grateful for a fast bike and strong legs and good health insurance, I thought, "This should teach me not to be so fearful, because it's so easy to fear the wrong thing and the actual disaster always takes you by surprise."
I think I need a little more grace to absorb that truth.
Pete's doing well. He has some nasty bruising on his knees and a still-sizable lump on his head. He complains of intermittent headaches. But his memory is just fine -- he even remembers the accident now -- and he's managing perfectly well with Tylenol. So maybe the thing to do tomorrow is to follow his lead, to see if he wants to visit the playground again. And maybe duct-tape his bike helmet in place.
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