I was stretching my legs at Rainey Park in Astoria when I saw two men walking through the playground. One of them was wearing a reflective construction vest, both wore manly blue jeans and work boots. They chattered with each other as they trudged up the rubberized play pyramid that served as a centerpiece for the playground. Upon reaching the peak, which stood a solid 15 feet above the surrounding ground, They giddily grinned with the obvious appeasement that comes with ascending summits. The man in the vest paused and grabbed the top bar of the slide that could take him on a slippery plummet to the ground below but he did not slide. He wanted to slide, his eyes advertised it, but his mindful smile said, "Wouldn't that be wild if I swung down this chute like a child would play, with no vest and no boots?" His friend waddled slow down the pyramid slope. He must have decided his fun was enough, if he let out a giggle he wouldn't be tough. The vest man remained at his perch by the slide, he noticed my gaze when he glanced to the side. "Just do it," I whispered, "I really won't care. I know you grew up but the urge is still there." He loosened his grip and stepped back from the slide, then crept down the hill as he sheltered his pride. He joined his friend and they stomped their boots away from the pyramid and I felt disappointment sting in my chest. I buried my face into my leg in an effort to loosen a stagnant muscle when I heard, "I made it!" cheer from in front of me. I turned up my gaze and saw boots on a wall that was blue, curved, and towering seven feet tall. A climbing piece made to keep kids entertained had been conquered by men who let fun go untamed. They followed their instinct and moved in new ways that were borrowed from kids because everyone plays.
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