Do you remember these?  The playgrounds with the see-saws that would actually come up and hit your partner on the chin or slam them to the ground if you suddenly decided to leave for the monkey bars.  The ones that simply did. not. work. without a friend.  Do you remember the playgrounds with merry-go-rounds that could spin so fast you might fly off but that created the most amazing centrifugal effects on your cheeks.  Do you remember discovering the safety of the middle?  Or finally getting off and walking awry for several moments thereafter?  Perhaps your playground had one of those huge metal slides with steps that went up forever and a mirror like surface that reflected the sun like secret signals from one park to another.  In the summer those slides got so hot you were glad of the speed with which they sent you careening towards the ground.  And swings - what playground would be complete without swings.  The super tall ones with the black plastic seats bowed by gravity and hundreds of children’s bottoms.  The swings hung by thick chains over a dirt cavity so deep it became a small pond when there was rain.  Those long chains and some vigorous pumping would send you so high it seemed you were flying and the brave actually did - leaping from seat mid-air.

My favorite childhood park had a barrel that worked something like a never-ending hamster wheel.  Nine or ten kids would get inside at once all running together to make the monolith move.  Faster and faster until one by one we started falling out unable to keep pace.  As a teen I returned to that park with my now husband, then friend and we sat in the big barrel for hours discussing philosophy and religion and the state of the world and when all of those topics grew too heavy for words, we stood up and started walking, faster and faster until one or both fell out unable to keep pace.  Laughingly, we’d pick ourselves up, children for a little while longer.

The barrel was gone last time I visited, along with the merry-go-round that used to sit beside it.  Labeled too dangerous I suppose.  I have mixed feelings about that label. 

See Brother has been experimenting with a couple of new words this week: “Gautious” (as in look before you leap) and “Cragious” (as in brave).  He can’t quite pronounce them but he knows what they mean and he can use them in context.  They are big words for such a little guy but I know how he learned them.  Around here I am very frugal with the word dangerous and the label “too dangerous” is almost unheard of.  Around here I am more likely to utter, “Be careful.” than “Don’t do that.”  More likely to offer explanation of a possible consequence than “Stop that. You’ll get hurt.”  Why?  Because I want to affirm their explorations.  I want them to reach for things that are just beyond their abilities and in the reaching to stretch and grow those abilities so that in some unexpected moment they grasp the dream they are reaching for.  But I want them to be aware of the risks too.  Not shackled by fear of the danger but rather able to evaluate it in a distant contemplative sort of way.  Because someday they will encounter real danger and if I’ve never allowed them to look it in the face before, if I’ve never provided toys tools that teach them how to weigh risks, how will they recognize it for what it is?  How will they make the right choice: “gaution” or “cragiousness”?