Fortunately for my generation, the age of enlightenment for
ultra-safe playgrounds began after our jungle-gym explorations had come to an end. I still remember falling off the slide backwards and having the wind knocked out of me, puking up my bologna sandwich after an over-zealous merry-go-round session, twisting my ankle after an orbit-entering jump off of the swing, along with various and sundry head bumps, splinters, abrasions, blisters and hyper-extended fingernails. And look at me now! There's not a (twitch....twitch) thing wrong with me.
Mammasita likes to brag about her high school softball team doing a FOD for broken glass in the infield before every practice. I dare you to try today to get a teenage girl to slide into third base with known flesh-rending objects in the ground without receiving any letters from their fathers' attorneys. Ain't gonna happen, Sid.
What kind of football are we going to have to watch when all these kids who never takes risks or get hurt on the playground start making wimpy tackles?........ Ok. That's not a good example. What kind of Marine Corps will we count on if 19 year-old recruits have never had to deal with a decent scrape on their knee? They'll all want to join the Air Force!
This just confirms me in my desire to build a big, dangerous playground to teach my children risk taking and assessment habits...and that their father will always be there to help them when they need it most.