Val on trampoline, 1962, Joliet, IL
The human childhood is a prolonged stage compared to other animal species. No creature takes as long as we do to reach puberty, and, putting basic biological mileposts aside, we certainly extend our period of playful behaviors well beyond that exhibited by any other mammal, even our closest ape relatives. In fact, we never come to the end of our playful phase because we have all manner of activities in that mode that are acceptable at all ages. The standard definition of play generally encompasses actions that are performed for enjoyment and recreation, without regard to how practical, useful or important they are to an organism's continued existence.
It's easy to see how play evolved; youngsters of many animals spend time learning the skills they need to eventually reproduce, in ways that are not as dangerous or serious as what will be encountered later in life. After all, if the stakes were as high for babies as adults, almost all individuals would perish long before reaching maturity; complex life on our planet would never have made it to this point.
As the masters of environmental manipulation, we humans have afforded our young not just the opportunity to play, but we provide all kinds of specialized areas for such. Standard examples include indoor nurseries and playrooms, plus outdoor playgrounds and amusement parks. As soon as we move from the sheltered inner sanctums to the wider world outside, the anxiety level of parents goes up accordingly. It's easy to keep sharp, hot, or poisonous objects out of a room in one's house, but to remove those dangers from the external surroundings is nearly impossible. We can put a fence around some equipment that has been specially designed to be relatively safe for small bodies, but, as just about everyone knows, accidents still happen. Who hasn't been hit in the head with a still moving swing, scraped a knee at the bottom of a slide, or lost their grip on a jungle gym? When such hazards exist in thoughtfully engineered areas, what can be expected in the landscape at large?
The answer to that hypothetical question is simple: anything at all. One of the facts of life is that each person must learn to avoid things that will harm them, either by instinctive reaction, common sense, or trial and error. Somehow, with all the complexities of our world, most kids do okay. We have big brains that are primed to learn from the moment we draw our first breath. Sometimes children can even follow instructions, such as obeying after being told not to run into the street. A leash that exerts physical control is often necessary for dogs, but verbal commands should be adequate for an animal that's a little smarter. In only a couple of years, kids go from needing constant management to being savvy enough to explore their environs more independently.
That certainly seemed to be the case in my youth. I grew up in Illinois, where I was often allowed to play unsupervised in all sorts of locations. When I was a toddler, our backyard was sufficient space, and well within my mother's earshot in case I started screaming for help. An inflatable wading pool, a small trampoline with a bar to hold while jumping, some boards on concrete blocks and a diminutive swing set provided variety in an area that was conveniently surrounded by a fence (doing double duty containing both me and our dogs). I learned very early that the metal frame supporting a swing falls over if one tries to gain too much altitude with each oscillation. The same thing happens in rocking chairs, knowledge of which was gained in a wicker rocker on my grandparents' porch. I still hate wicker furniture.
Val on trampoline, 1962, Joliet, IL |
That same playground included other attractive equipment. One of my favorites was a set of small rocking horses on large vertical springs. There were three of them, each a different color. I preferred the black horse.
Along with a seesaw, metal slide, monkey bars and merry-go-round, there was one structure we never quite figured out. It was a huge metal triangle, super shiny and slippery, with an odd narrow sort of monkey bar "ladder" on the long upper side. The angle of the flat surface was such that it was more vertical than horizontal. It seemed to be a slide of some type, but there was no way to climb up, since the only possibility was to cling to the strange little bars that offered only an uncertain grip, which, if lost, resulted in a very fast descent to the unforgiving blacktop surface below. I never saw anybody actually use that thing.
While intentionally designed playgrounds were certainly attractive, we enjoyed other areas at least as much. One of the simplest was a grassy field. By summer, vacant lots in our neighborhood had grass that towered over our heads. My sister and I could make extensive tunnels through the vegetation, complete with a warren of rooms. Playing house was more like creating a maze.
During the winter, snow provided a lot of amusement, whether used for building snowmen and snow houses, or for the opportunity to slide down hills on sleds, pizza pans, skis or pieces of cardboard. Then there was ice skating. Once old enough to have mastered balancing on those thin blades, the exploration, chasing, hide and seek, hockey, and follow-the-leader games on ice became favorite cold weather pastimes.
There always seemed to be plenty of outdoor play spaces in our neighborhoods. When we lived in a rural subdivision, there were both vacant areas between yards and a creek. The roads were often devoid of traffic, so we rode our bikes everywhere. Piles of lumber, tires, old appliances, and all manner of discarded junk littered certain places, and we had everything we needed to build forts, play house, or just climb around for fun. We saw the camps of hobos (now, of course, called transients) and always avoided them, mostly because of horror stories, often embellished to sound as scary as possible, told to us by our more knowledgeable elders.
After moving to an urban setting when I was nine years old, we quickly discovered other playgrounds, although we then had to contend with tighter restrictions on private property and public thoroughfares. More than once, I was startled by cars honking at me to get out of the way as I pedaled my bicycle around businesses and back alleys. Although a church parking lot near our house had a veritable labyrinth of open areas connected by sloping ramps and sidewalks, all paved with smooth blacktop and concrete and perfect for roller skates, skateboards or bicycles, we risked incurring the wrath of the nuns who seemed to have nothing better to do than to yell at us to go away.
In spite of being in the middle of town, we still had woods and fields within walking distance of our house. Many happy times were spent climbing on the forested hillsides and exploring the open drainage canals. There were occasional reports of murders and the discovery of decomposing bodies, but that didn't dampen our enthusiasm. We were just careful to avoid any strangers.
Throughout my childhood, our parents took us with them when they went mushroom hunting or fishing. As we weren't interested in those more productive endeavors, whatever place we in were became our playground. Creeks and ponds were especially fun. Making little dams, collecting animals from under rocks, and building pretend campsites kept us busy for hours.
One of the most engaging kinds of playgrounds, and still an irresistible draw even to an old person like me, is any kind of waste dump. Old furniture, tools, appliances, vehicles, household goods and even dead animals are curiously fascinating. It was great fun to examine the internal workings of televisions, radios, washing machines and power tools, and I probably learned more about circuitry, vacuum tubes, transistors and other electronic components in trash dumps than in any formal educational setting.
Play comes in many forms, but the kind that takes place outdoors is one of my favorites. I remember somebody once telling me that he didn't like going for walks in a neighborhood park because it was boring. I couldn't believe my ears! How can anyone be bored when there is so much to see, even in the most mundane landscape? Play is a state of mind, so it can be as pervasive or as limited as one desires. The outdoors can be a place fraught with hazards, the dreary space between buildings, an uncomfortable area to traverse before reaching a destination, or it can be a playground. It all depends on how you look at it.