Sprout 1 | Page 6

The Sprout

We didn’t have much money growing up. We were comfortable, but lived within our means. On top of that, my house was always filled with too many family members. There was my little brother, a second on the way, three older step siblings and one of their kids, two parents (my dad and step mother), my grandpa, and myself, with pets and friends here and there. It was a big house, but felt small. I didn’t like that, and I didn’t like people too much. I was introverted, and being crowded all the time made me grow tired of them. And I was kid that was always ready for adventure. So, when reading and video games weren’t enough, I would beg my dad to take me to the playground. It was called Coventry Park.

This playground was a kingdom to me, a fortress. It had a beginning, middle, and end. It was made of two flat areas and a hill in between, and the hill was around two stories long. The first floor, the flat area, had a wooden fortress, with rope swings and a zip line in between it and the hill. The hill was the main attraction, because on it was the slide. You could literally get hurt on this slide, it was so huge. Going down on wax paper was downright dangerous, but that didn’t stop my older siblings. They did it all the time; I only did it once. It was big enough to hold three people side to side, but you only went one at a time if you were smart.

Kill Your Places, Too

For most kids, the entire day was made up of the process of getting back up to the slide. It was a long way up, and there were things to do on the way, but eventually they made their way back. It never got old, going down again and again and again.

I liked playing with the other kids, or even just with my little brother, who always came with me. Usually we would see familiar faces, and get together to play cops and robbers, tag, or any other game where we could utilize the vastness of the place. It was a dream-like escape, being in that playground. Because it was so big, and the sides sloped up, I felt like I was in a different world, unconnected to reality. There were never adults, only other kids. On the flip side of that coin, the top floor was in view of the parking lot and the street. Maybe that’s why kids didn’t go up there as much. Maybe that’s why I went up there more often than they did. There were some swings and things to do up there, but for the most part it was quiet, private, and being able to see the cars made it feel more real to me. In the middle and the bottom, you were lost. Don’t get me wrong, I loved that. But every once in a while, I liked to get my head above ground and look at the real world. It was a nice contrast for me, being able to look down into my kingdom, and then being able to see cars and houses. Eventually I would dip back into the fantasy, feeling revived.

That’s where I was last Christmas, just over ten years later. I was visiting old relatives up where I used to live. I knew I had to go there, to the park; I had to see it one last time. I looked down from the top floor; the whole thing looked like a rusty toy. It was tiny.

By Kurt Ivy