Grrr

When we lived in San Francisco, we lived two blocks and change from Children's Playground in Golden Gate Park. We had mixed feelings about the old playground--it was said to be 120 years old and looked it. Crucial planks of wood missing from play structures; lots of rust; and a whole lot of old skool playground fun, designed in the days before car seat regulations and personal injury lawsuits.

We had our reservations about the semi-dangerous equipment sometimes, but our kid loved it. He'd slide down the old concrete slides on a piece of dirty cardboard until the cardboard wore through. He'd play for hours in the rusty triangular contraption that we lovingly referred to as the Tetanus Trap. If he got hungry, he'd unsuccessfully beg for a block of bright pink popcorn from the concession stand.

A few years ago, liability concerns finally won out and they tore down the old Children's Playground. All that was left was a large expanse of dirt and the promise of space-age equipment and water features. It would be bitchin'! When it was done...

Let me tell you, I lost count of the number of times we walked past that dormant dirt lot where the playground used to stand. Every time, we saw the same thing--nothingness surrounded by orange fencing, and no workers within a half mile. My daughter grew from baby to toddler, and we saw dirt. My son started and finished kindergarten, and, yep--dirt.

The MacArthur freeway fell down and they built it back in two weeks. Yet the complicated task of putting up swingsets on a flat lot eluded San Francisco Parks and Rec for at least a year and a half.

Yesterday, from my living room in Boulder, I read that Children's Playground has finally re-opened. And we are gone. God damn it. The pictures make it look real nice. The kids are smiling. As my kids would have done if they had actually BUILT THE THING while we were still living there.

What's missing? WE ARE. Fuckers.

I feel a sad tug as I remember all the time I walked by the dirt, thinking about Gianni and Tea growing up at the new playground. It was supposed to be part of their lives, and they missed it.

Still, in a weird way it makes me feel good that my son's memories of playing in Golden Gate Park are filled not with time logged on sproingy playground surface and safety agency-approved equipment, but hours spent tumbling down a steep chute of concrete, or trapped in the confines of the Tetanus Trap. He was part of something. Something kinda dangerous, but we all lived.

And life goes on. We lose a Children's Playground, but we gain Eldorado Canyon. And as dangerous play structures go, the red rocks and rushing water in the Canyon kick the Tetanus Trap's ass any day of the week.