January 28: Ode to a playground
A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write it a memorial.
It began with a game of tag football. As young boys usually do, it became tackle once the teachers turned their back. It had been were I first learned what it meant to take a stand, and a right cross. An open field, with a couple buildings on one side and some houses on the other. Quickly the school added some monkey bars, a basketball court and some other jungle-gym type equipment. Wooden, dangerous, but the perfect place to man the ship on a pirate adventure. The other had been a space ship that I took to a distant planet and first told a girl a loved her. I was six, she ran away crying. That old field with its old equipment had encompassed what my childhood had meant. Hanging out with friends, running until we fell down, and laughing so hard we cried. This field represents a childhood most do not get in this town anymore, so it is only fitting it was destroyed, to make room for parking spaces. As the small town becomes big, childhood becomes less about play and more about advancement.