By KAREN MADORIN
During my childhood, children scampered across rocky playgrounds offering tall metal swing sets sporting finger-pinching chains, soul-launching teeter totters, and towering slides withtwo thin rails guiding the brave up a dozen rickety steps. Those chains and rails froze little hands, November through February, and roasted palms, July through September. They also created thrilling memories.
Acrophobics played foursquare, tag, or jumped rope, grounding themselves every recesswhile legendary swings inspired astronaut and jet pilot careers. Energetic kiddoes escaped desks to race and claim narrow seats. On board, wannabe acrobats pushed off, energetically pumping legs before launching into the stratosphere. Little girls wore shorts under required dresses to prevent boys from seeing their underwear as they flew ever higher. When someone achievedpeak arc, shrill “Cowabungas” signaled thrashing limbs hurtling earthward in untrained parachute landing fall positions.
Bystanders stood just beyond contact zones, rewarding gravity-defying acts with oohs and awes or derisive raspberries. Once swings emptied, another brave soul positioned for an arms-wide, leg paddling spiral toward the sun. During high school English, memories of these playground flights helped me understand why Icarus defied Daedalus and flew too close to that burning orb.
Near the swings, a line of height and speed loving youngsters clambered up the towering slide. Sometimes that well-worn metal undulated, adding lift to bodies racing down on cotton-clad fannies. Other slides offered straight shots to earth. Anyone zipping down with legs pressed together to increase speed best prepare for potential face plants.
When teachers served playground duty, kids’ daring-do was limited to swinging, twirling around metal poles until they wobbled, and sliding one at a time. Once school ended and teachers left the premises, neighborhood youngsters gathered to challenge one another to creative and dangerous feats.
Accepting challenges more than once, I inched across the long cross bar topping a vintage swing set. Wearing a dress added danger. Upon reaching the other end, I’d maneuver over the edge and swirl down the support pole.
While swing sets required arm and core strength plus timing, slides offered socialchallenges. How many could form a train to descend slick metal? The “engineer” pressed both legs hard against narrow sides to hold the train until the “caboose” hollered, “Go.” Hittingbottom, participants landed in giggling dog piles or crying messes when bodies landed on others’hands or fingers.
Once, with only my brother available to slide. I had the brilliant idea to set him between my legs and tell him to hang cowboy booted calves over each side. I wrapped arms around him and pushed off. What a surprise when our momentum and a trapped foot swooped him over the side.
Fearing catastrophe, I dread seeing Humpty Dumpty on the pavement. Fortunately, I discovered him dangling, one booted foot imprisoned in the crossbar. I tried reaching him to tug him out of his boot into my arms, but this was a tall slide, and I was little. I attempted to pull him up from the top but that hurt his ankle too much. Finally, I left him hanging and dashed home to get our parents. Thank goodness we lived close, and dad easily rescued him.
Over decades, the thrill seeker once existing in me has vanished. In fact, standing on chair to dust a ceiling fan causes vertigo. Times and playgrounds have changed and so have playground memories.