Monday, July 25, 2011

A broken arm, not a broken spirit-- back blogging

I read today how a blog is not about "making money" but about fostering and developing relationships. So-- I'm shamed, and hopefully, at least weekly, I'm back--

I heard it mentioned that in the educational reform movement that was playground building, at the turn of the past century in 1905, the motto was:  “Better a broken arm than a broken spirit.”  I fear in our nanny-state of 2011, we’ve sided with the broken spirit.
The NYT opined last week on the growing trend towards PC even in our children’s fun.  Playgrounds have been denuded of their see-saws and fire-poles; too-high slides are a thing of the past and even swings are on their way out.  Why?   Kid’s safety, of course.  We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt!
But what about the injury to a kid’s spirit?
I can still remember the view from the top of the enclosure surrounding the fire-pole,  in the playground at my elementary school, Avoca, in Glenview, IL.  Off in a corner of the wonderfully-wood scented bark-chip covered ground of the yard was a four-laddered “building” which allowed enterprising kindergarteners to climb the enormous (at least it seemed to me then, at age 5) 10 feet to the metal-floored chamber with the hole in the middle, and the pole the only way out.  (Of course, you could back down the ladders—but who would do that?  Me, once, as a 5 year-old kindergartener, and the shame still remains.) 
At 6 years-old, though, finally a grown-up first-grader, I took the fall chill of the new school year to be my homing signal.  At the first (alright, maybe it was day 8) day of school, first recess, I was up one of those impossibly-tall ladders, looking ever to the azure, Indian-summer Chicago sky, that metal-floored chamber (of course, the metal had bumpy ridges to keep occupants fromt sliding out the sides) to the pole. 
I got there, quicker than I remembered from my kindergarten year.  The view was incredible—I could see everyone:  my teacher, my classmates, and even my little red-headed girl  (yes, I had one of those, too, in first-grade).  Would they see me streaking down the slick fire-pole?  Probably not.  Would I go anyway?
I would!  I did!
The distance from the end of the hole in the middle of the chamber to the pole was very scary, that first time.  I held my breath, and  . . .  jumped, and held on to the pole for dear life.  Once there, I realized I couldn’t keep on holding on—the trick was to slide down, to let go!!!!! a bit at a time, allowing my weight to pull me down in a controlled fall with the pole doing the controlling.
Terrifying.
Exhilerating.
No broken bones.
A definitely-enhanced spirit, still remembered on today, my 53rd birthday.
But now, I’m afraid, the fire-pole is gone from Avoca’s playground.
I live in Venice, CA, so it’s hard to check it out—I’ll have to report back when I go visit for my High School class’ 35th Reunion in November.   I hope it’s not gone.  But I worry that it is.
How will this new generation’s 6 year-old’s spirits grow?  Not by virtually sliding down a virtual pole in a virtual reality video game, that’s for sure.