The Great Playground Demolition
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The children demolished our playground this week. It graced our backyard for nearly a decade and now it’s gone. All that’s left is empty space and a pile of rotting wood planks.
The destruction was a collective effort. My two youngest kids participated while my middle schooler watched from the sidelines (in his VR headset). My kids didn’t act alone. They assembled one of the top demolition teams in the history of mankind.
The Pyramids of Giza may be 5,000 years old, but even they wouldn’t stand a chance against this crew. Once The Pyramids got a look at the group of 7- to 11-year-olds wielding an electric screwdriver that didn’t work, a metal bar they found somewhere, several hammers, and a saw (wait, what?), they would’ve pre-emptively crumbled to the ground to save themselves the humiliation of being methodically and systematically deconstructed*.
To alleviate some concerns you might have, yes, this was a sanctioned activity. The children had mostly outgrown the playground and the Florida humidity had eaten away at it so that it was no longer stable. We had been planning to take it down for quite a while but shockingly hadn’t gotten around to it.
So when the neighborhood mob turned violent one afternoon, it seemed like as good a time as any to rip the bandaid off and say goodbye to the playground our entire family (siblings, parents, in-laws, nieces, nephews, a couple of dogs) had gathered to assemble just months after we bought our home. My middle child was an infant when we built the playground so it was only fitting that when he was on the verge of turning ten years old, he helped hack it into oblivion.
The playground was no longer safe to use. Therefore, the only prudent course of action was to allow the children to design, manage, and execute a very safe and orderly destruction plan. I was a bit hesitant to turn this task over to them at first, but then I realized the children had one pair of plastic Nerf glasses to share amongst themselves and at least half of them were wearing some type of footwear.
I honestly didn’t think they would go through with it, but once it started, I was as helpless and resigned as Aaron Burr.
The demolition team quickly established a hierarchal organization to optimize efficiency. The 8-year-old who lives behind us was tabbed as Boss #1 or the Top Boss. This decision was inexplicable—she doesn’t even live here and she’s squarely in the middle of the group agewise—but it seemed almost pre-ordained. Perhaps she just has more rizz than the rest of them or a sparkling LinkedIn presence that really stands out.
Boss #1 quickly got to work and appointed fellow second graders including my daughter as Bosses #2 and #3. They then proceeded to conduct individual interviews on the trampoline to make sure prospective crew members had the right stuff to move the project forward.
The entire project took three afternoons. Progress was halting because Boss #1 was mostly unavailable on the second day, arriving unannounced at 5:50 p.m. A skeleton nightshift crew was able to work 30 minutes or so until dusk.
On the third day, the entire team assembled in the early afternoon (thankfully, it was early-dismissal Wednesday** at school).
The 8-year-old boy who lives up the street arrived several hours late. He was sternly reprimanded and subjected to a one-on-one with Boss #1 on the trampoline. There was talk of expelling him from the crew, but he was ultimately allowed to remain because he could swing the hammer pretty hard. Pound-for-pound, he’s probably one of the top hammer swingers east of the Mississippi.
After much deliberation about support beams and discussions about who should be standing where and what pieces should be wailed on next, the remaining structure was pushed to the ground at around 4:30 in the afternoon when the sun was still high.
it’s dead
Several crew members jumped up and down on the carcass. I had to look away. I couldn’t bear to see the old girl in such a state. Boss #1 got a popsicle out of the freezer in the garage and asked if we could make snow cones.
We made snow cones.
It all happened so fast that I didn’t have much time to reflect on the passing of time and how nothing is permanent. Anyway, now is my chance. Isn’t it wild how nothing lasts, children grow older, and even the most regal of mid-value wooden playgrounds ultimately become heaps of neglected wood sitting at the curb?
That’s something for you to consider. Mull it over. I would, but I don’t have time.
My son and one of the other crewmembers are already hard at work designing a new structure to build in the backyard. They’ve drawn up a blueprint and priced out materials online.
If their construction skills are half as good as their demolition skills, this new building will truly be a sight to behold.
I’m sure it will stand the test of time… at least as much as anything does.
* Indiscriminately hammered to bits.
** Yes, early-dismissal Wednesday is a thing… EVERY week.