Hail to the king, baby.
The ladder climb was always the hardest part. Hand over hand, not necessarily straight up, as the rope ladder would bend and sway under my weight, but the direction was most assuredly upward. Sure, it was difficult, but that was half the fun. Getting to the top was the challenge, and once I got there I could survey the entire scope of the playground. My playground.
Looking back, it wasn't what I would consider an inordinately large area. In fact, it was quite small in comparison to others I've since seen. But to me, it was enormous. I was only nine years old though. To me, the little three-street development I lived in was a large suburb unto itself. So of course the tiny neighborhood playground looked immense. I looked upon it as my castle, from which I could survey my (self-proclaimed) kingdom, and from where I would rule with an iron-clad, 3rd Grade fist.
Entering the gate of the fence that surrounded it, I could see the entirety of the playground area, for the most part. Far to the left is the tennis court, where some friends and I would occasionally hold home-run derbies, and where, later in my youth, we'd play roller hockey almost every day. Next to that, but mostly obscured by trees from the stated vantage point, is the basketball court, where during the summers of late grade school I'd spend hours practicing my jump-shot. These days, I'm not exactly the most physically active person around, so any skill or musculature I gained has long since faded away into memory.
The first thing I would always go for when I entered the playground proper was the tire swing. It was like my own personal merry-go-round. It was a big tire too; not a dinky car tire, one of those huge tires they use for monster trucks. I'd sit down and spin it so fast the rest of the world would become a blur, everything in my vision running together like a piece of spin art. When it eventually stopped spinning, as inertia took hold, I'd be so dizzy I couldn't even walk straight. I'd have to sit down next to the big tire and lean against one of the vertical support posts until the kaliedoscopic spinning of the world returned to normal.
There were two slides, each on different from the other in any number of ways. The first was traditional slide. You've seen the type: steel, a straight slope, with a horizontal bar extending across two vertical ones at the top. It wasn't a long slide, maybe six or seven feet. It was good for doing flips though, whereby I'd sort-of throw myself over the horizontal bar, flip over it, plant my feet on the slide itself, and run down the rest of the length. Sure, it was dangerous. In fact, I probably could've been seriously injured, maybe even broken my neck. But when you're that young, you feel as invincible as Superman. Like nothing can hurt you.
The other slide was the centerpiece of the playground. The rope ladder I mentioned earlier? It led up to the top of the slide. After I'd climbed it, there was a small landing, where I'd usually rest a bit. Attached to the end of the landing was a circular, metal, almost turret-like room. This is where I'd stand and survey my "kingdom." After a while, I'd get bored standing there, so I'd slide down the twisting yellow tube which was attached to the turret. There were portholes in the tube, so I could see flashes of the world outside while I was sliding down. Once I'd reached the bottom, there would be two obvious choices open to me: climb the ladder again, or go home. In one of my earliest displays of lateral thinking, I'd normally climb back up the slide. What can I say, I was a youthful iconoclast.
The playground was one of the most stable parts of my childhood. It seemed like any of the kids I was friends with would move away shortly after arriving. The playground, though, was a constant, unchanging. It was always there for me, no matter the season or the weather. As I grew older, I went there less and less, as my growing interest in feminine companionship and my burgeoning music talent held my attention more easily. But I've never forgotten the fun I had at the playground. My kingdom.
Looking back, it wasn't what I would consider an inordinately large area. In fact, it was quite small in comparison to others I've since seen. But to me, it was enormous. I was only nine years old though. To me, the little three-street development I lived in was a large suburb unto itself. So of course the tiny neighborhood playground looked immense. I looked upon it as my castle, from which I could survey my (self-proclaimed) kingdom, and from where I would rule with an iron-clad, 3rd Grade fist.
Entering the gate of the fence that surrounded it, I could see the entirety of the playground area, for the most part. Far to the left is the tennis court, where some friends and I would occasionally hold home-run derbies, and where, later in my youth, we'd play roller hockey almost every day. Next to that, but mostly obscured by trees from the stated vantage point, is the basketball court, where during the summers of late grade school I'd spend hours practicing my jump-shot. These days, I'm not exactly the most physically active person around, so any skill or musculature I gained has long since faded away into memory.
The first thing I would always go for when I entered the playground proper was the tire swing. It was like my own personal merry-go-round. It was a big tire too; not a dinky car tire, one of those huge tires they use for monster trucks. I'd sit down and spin it so fast the rest of the world would become a blur, everything in my vision running together like a piece of spin art. When it eventually stopped spinning, as inertia took hold, I'd be so dizzy I couldn't even walk straight. I'd have to sit down next to the big tire and lean against one of the vertical support posts until the kaliedoscopic spinning of the world returned to normal.
There were two slides, each on different from the other in any number of ways. The first was traditional slide. You've seen the type: steel, a straight slope, with a horizontal bar extending across two vertical ones at the top. It wasn't a long slide, maybe six or seven feet. It was good for doing flips though, whereby I'd sort-of throw myself over the horizontal bar, flip over it, plant my feet on the slide itself, and run down the rest of the length. Sure, it was dangerous. In fact, I probably could've been seriously injured, maybe even broken my neck. But when you're that young, you feel as invincible as Superman. Like nothing can hurt you.
The other slide was the centerpiece of the playground. The rope ladder I mentioned earlier? It led up to the top of the slide. After I'd climbed it, there was a small landing, where I'd usually rest a bit. Attached to the end of the landing was a circular, metal, almost turret-like room. This is where I'd stand and survey my "kingdom." After a while, I'd get bored standing there, so I'd slide down the twisting yellow tube which was attached to the turret. There were portholes in the tube, so I could see flashes of the world outside while I was sliding down. Once I'd reached the bottom, there would be two obvious choices open to me: climb the ladder again, or go home. In one of my earliest displays of lateral thinking, I'd normally climb back up the slide. What can I say, I was a youthful iconoclast.
The playground was one of the most stable parts of my childhood. It seemed like any of the kids I was friends with would move away shortly after arriving. The playground, though, was a constant, unchanging. It was always there for me, no matter the season or the weather. As I grew older, I went there less and less, as my growing interest in feminine companionship and my burgeoning music talent held my attention more easily. But I've never forgotten the fun I had at the playground. My kingdom.
Labels: writing
posted by nicholas reed at 12:30 AM
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