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Recently I discovered I
am the victim of a
common, but little
publicized, illness. At least
some people might call it
an illness. I call it an
addiction. The condition
in question is something I
have termed “compulsive
playground regression. ”
I first discovered I had
this “disorder” about a
year ago. At the time I was
a college junior and as
fully developed
intellectually as any
college junior should be.
But I had one fatal flaw. I
found myself at times
wanting to grab a few
friends and go to a park to
play, much the same way
one plays with his
schoolmates at recess.
This was fun. And it
became a regular practice.
My friends and I would go
to the park where we
would proceed to play so
hard and so long that
even the children who
were the age that society
considers to be of
acceptable park playing
age would soon tire of our
antics and find
somewhere else to spend
their spare time.
In our case, however, it
was not necessarily just
our spare time that we
spent in the park. We
would go play at lunch
time, after classes or
during study time (of
course we always took
our books and promised
ourselves we would just sit
on the jungle gym and
read.) I’m sure most of
you know; it is a physical
impossibility to “just sit”
on a jungle gym, that’s
like saying you’re going to
just sit on a roller coaster.
I realized the situation
was getting serious when
the idea to go to the
playground began to
surface at strange times
like midnight and other
early morning hours. We
even went during the
dead of winter when we
could not even feel our
hands and feet, but we
could remember what it
felt like in the summertime
so we knew we were
having fun.
Not only were the
hours and seasons of our
excursions becoming
more radical, our
behavior in the park also
intensified. I found myself
inventing games to play
on the playground
equipment, just like
everyone did when they
were children. And then I
found myself actually
getting angry when
everyone wasn’t playing
the game right.
We discovered every
possible way to slide
down a slide. The boring
ordinary way of simply
sitting down was by no
means enough of a
challenge for these
playground pioneers. We
went down backwards, on
our backs, on our
stomachs (much in the
same way that Frosty the
Snowman sped down the
snow covered hills) and
This week’s attention!! photo was taken by Marie McLeod, a senior
journalism major.
on occasion we even slid
down on our heads. The
trips on our head were
usually not planned, but
turned out to be some of
our most rewarding
excursions.
Even though the play
was fast and furious we
remained free from injury.
Even injuries we suffer off
of the playground haven’t
affected our playground
parties. I, in all of my
graceful glory, managed
to break my tailbone (yes
broken, x-rays and all).
This accident did not
happen on the
playground, but I was
soon faced with the
question of to what extent
was I going to allow this
injury to affect my
recesses.
This question brought
me to the realization that I
am, in fact, a compulsive
playground regressive.
When faced with the
question of to play or not
to play, guess what I
chose. I went to the park
with my friends and my
broken tailbone during
the early morning hours. I
played with a little less
vigor than usual and the
thought of sliding down
the slide in anything other
than “Frosty fashion”
never crossed my mind.
But I was still there and I
was still playing.
I’m sure at this point
you have convinced
yourself that I must have
had the help of some
alcohol anesthetic to get
through this play period.
But as frightening as this
may seem my group of
“grown” college
classmates attend these
parties quite under their
own influence.
I have found, however,
through conversations
with other supposedly
“grown” college students
that my friends and I are
not alone. Many people
have stories much like
mine to tell about their
deep love for that land of
sand and mangled metal.
I was relieved to find that
my friends and I had not
missed out on some vital
part of the maturing
process, thus becoming
victims of this addiction.
I don’t suppose my
addiction has run its full
course yet. Unlike a true
addict I have not yet felt
the need to get high by
myself. I still want friends
to go play and in my eyes,
the more the merrier. So
all of you compulsive
playground regressives
come out of the closets
and play with us. The bell
has finally rung and recess
has begun.
Kristi Gill is a senior
journalism major.
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