When I was a young lad in the late 50s and early 60s in Columbus, Ohio, during the summer were were more or less kicked out of the house after breakfast, came home for lunch, back out, home for supper then back out again until the street lights came on. We were not expected to come home other than for meals or the evening unless we required first aid. We all drank water from the fountains in the park. We rode our bicycles to the local park, played games whose rules we made up and agreed to on the spot, played mostly within our age groups (older kids played with older kids, etc) and had amazingly little conflict. Skinning elbows sliding into second or getting a bad bounce in the infield and a black eye were about the worst thing that happened. We had what today is considered to be child-killer playground equipment. Nobody had a serious accident except for one kid who broke his arm when trying to walk down the side rail of the tall slide in his sock feet. Even he was sort of a hero and everyone signed the cast three days later. Girls played with other girls, boys with boys, totally without adult supervision or being herded into sex-based groups. The only adults around were parents with very small children in the “baby” play area or the 18-and-19-year-olds on summer break from college picking up some change by signing out the four-square balls and setting up the park in the morning and taking the tether balls, volleyball nets, etc, down in the evening and storing them. We played very competitive games, won and lost and learned much thereby. There were no vans cruising the playground with perverts looking to snatch a kid or kids. We had some pocket money for the Ice Cream Man when he made his rounds and we pooled our leftover change to buy something for the few poor kids. Almost no parents, few adults at all, kids ran the place according to our own rules. Nobody’s bike was stolen, nobody shot, nobody knifed, fistfights between boys were quite rare and violence among the girls was unheard of. The worst I got besides a few skinned knees or elbows or the odd black eye from a bouncing grounder was that several times I “got the wind knocked out” of me. Sucked when it happened but you recovered quickly. Usually from no-pads tackle football or taking a bad landing after jumping off the swing as high as you could go (remember doing that?).
Now playgrounds have all the appeal of a sterile operating room and parents do not allow their kids to go out of eye shot for fear of having them kidnapped by perverts, raped and murdered or struck by a stray bullets fired by gang bangers vying for drug turf.
I say, throw out the video games, turn off the televisions and computers, hang the perverts and gang-bangers, reinstall classic playground equipment, let kids run their own games and let our kids out to play all day again.
BE THIS GUY almost 12 years ago
Let the kids play and keep the parents at home.
hawgowar almost 12 years ago
When I was a young lad in the late 50s and early 60s in Columbus, Ohio, during the summer were were more or less kicked out of the house after breakfast, came home for lunch, back out, home for supper then back out again until the street lights came on. We were not expected to come home other than for meals or the evening unless we required first aid. We all drank water from the fountains in the park. We rode our bicycles to the local park, played games whose rules we made up and agreed to on the spot, played mostly within our age groups (older kids played with older kids, etc) and had amazingly little conflict. Skinning elbows sliding into second or getting a bad bounce in the infield and a black eye were about the worst thing that happened. We had what today is considered to be child-killer playground equipment. Nobody had a serious accident except for one kid who broke his arm when trying to walk down the side rail of the tall slide in his sock feet. Even he was sort of a hero and everyone signed the cast three days later. Girls played with other girls, boys with boys, totally without adult supervision or being herded into sex-based groups. The only adults around were parents with very small children in the “baby” play area or the 18-and-19-year-olds on summer break from college picking up some change by signing out the four-square balls and setting up the park in the morning and taking the tether balls, volleyball nets, etc, down in the evening and storing them. We played very competitive games, won and lost and learned much thereby. There were no vans cruising the playground with perverts looking to snatch a kid or kids. We had some pocket money for the Ice Cream Man when he made his rounds and we pooled our leftover change to buy something for the few poor kids. Almost no parents, few adults at all, kids ran the place according to our own rules. Nobody’s bike was stolen, nobody shot, nobody knifed, fistfights between boys were quite rare and violence among the girls was unheard of. The worst I got besides a few skinned knees or elbows or the odd black eye from a bouncing grounder was that several times I “got the wind knocked out” of me. Sucked when it happened but you recovered quickly. Usually from no-pads tackle football or taking a bad landing after jumping off the swing as high as you could go (remember doing that?).
Now playgrounds have all the appeal of a sterile operating room and parents do not allow their kids to go out of eye shot for fear of having them kidnapped by perverts, raped and murdered or struck by a stray bullets fired by gang bangers vying for drug turf.
I say, throw out the video games, turn off the televisions and computers, hang the perverts and gang-bangers, reinstall classic playground equipment, let kids run their own games and let our kids out to play all day again.