Apart of Me

Growing up, the people of my generation were given less considerations than the children these days. And believe me, that's a good thing.

Growing up, we had recess... and playgrounds made of wood and steel. Wood that was not shaved and smoothed and stained and finished. Wood that was rotten in places that you'd learn to avoid. Places full of bugs that you didn't want to touch. And steel, the kind of steel that keeps prisoners locked away from society, or perhaps society locked away from them.

Growing up, this is what we were given, but we were happy to have it. Happy to have recess, and to play "wall ball." Happy to play basketball (closer to rugby) with our monkey bars, where fights might break out during an accidental "ball kick" or "out of bounds", if there were such things.

We could sneak away from authority and play our outlawed version of "wall ball" called "butts up," with rules you'd only understand if you had played the game yourself. And we could scream and shout and play tag and not worry about being on the front page news.

We could sneak away to the courtyard and play our games and be ignored, even though you knew the teachers knew where you were. There were no threats of terrorism, or sexual harassment, and every week, there weren't stories of teachers taking advantage or children.

And we would be free to tell dirty jokes to each other, and share magazines, and tell each other lies about sex and girls and movies and music. We could form secret societies and clubs and play fight and imagine what we would be in 20 years.

Growing up, we could sneak away... and we would be free.

Dedicated to the continued death of childhood where survival was more an act of Darwinism than being the boy in the bubble.

By the survivor of a broken tooth from all fall from grace (specifically, the steel and wooden ladder leading to a 20 foot tower). By the survivor of hundreds of jumps off of the previously mentioned tower. Survivor of a fall from the commando line, where I landed supine perpendicular to the bottom rope and was not able to breathe after my spine had cracked. Survivor of the "Steel log roll". Survivor of Tracey Elementary School's playground.

We were warriors. We were alive.

My apologies for the serious and nostalgic nature of this post. The idea stemmed from a writing exercise.