Spoiled Childhood, part one

Madison and I head into the hills and mountains near our home whenever possible, but sometimes time and/or energy are in short supply and we content ourselves with walks through a couple of adjacent neighborhoods. One in particular is quite affluent - the homes are all large and well-kept on manicured two-acre lots. The other is nice but with smaller and older homes. No matter - both neighborhoods hold examples of one of the great tragedies of modern childhood: playthings that discourage imagination and social interaction and cooperation.

Today's example is from the older neighborhood. That is where I saw a great tree house in the design of a castle. It was big - probably the size of a small bedroom. I know that as a kid I would have been green with envy, which only goes to show that as a kid I didn't know much. Because as cool as this castle looked even to my adult eyes, I knew not much fun would ever be had there. For one thing, its design was so elaborate that it was not yet finished being built and I doubt it will be before its future occupants are in middle school (at which time they will definitely not want to occupy it.) For another, I've discovered as I matured that most of the fun in life is found in doing, not having.

My own childhood fort was just about as non-castlelike as you could possibly get. My best friend Kathy's family had a woodpile in the back of their yard. It was neatly stacked between two trees and came up about three feet. I don't know why but structures like this are irresistable to kids and before long it morphed into a kitchen in what became our pioneer cabin.

The two trees that bordered the woodpile were on the edge of a small woods which went down to a creek. We spent hours scavanging the creek for discarded objects - okay, we were picking trash. There wasn't as much plastic packaging then (we're talking late 1960s here) so a margerine tub was a valuable find. Mostly we found rusting cans that served as pots and pans. Sticks became forks and knives, pine cones, acorns and rocks were food. After a good meal in our rustic kitchen we could retire to the bedroom - a large, flat pile of mostly small rocks surrounded by trees behind the kitchen. A couple of larger rocks made great beds, perfect for sleeping off our imaginary pork and beans. Life was good on prairie.

Our cabin was never completely finished - we were always adding new household utensils and clearing new rooms. After month-long hiatus from trash picking one never knew what new treasure she might find so we'd head back to the creek to explore. The longer the game went the better it was.

It was the same when we played with our Barbies. For one thing, Barbie was pretty generic back then - she didn't come with a profession and all the accessories necessary to run a veterinary hospital or be a rock star. Barbie was just Barbie and we had accumulated a few of her and her friends, as well as a couple of cases and a smattering of outfits. We spent whole afternoons building and furnishing a gignatic house made from cases turned on their sides. Old boxes became beds, washcloths made great blankets and sock hangers held homemade Barbie dresses. The Barbies busied themselves moving into and arranging their new digs and it was during this activity that the drama unfolded. A couple of Barbies might have a fight over who got which bedroom, or who got Ken. There were various kid dolls of non-Barbie origin (and unknown parentage) who needed tending. And someone had to deal with the telephone company!

We would spend entire rainy afternoons setting up this communal Barbie residence (all the cases were placed end to end - no separate homes in this family compound). Just as the last dress was hung and the Barbies were ready to really do something someone's mother would call and tell her it was time to come home for dinner. The house would have to be disassembled, everything was put away and we promised ourselves that next time we would put things together faster so we could really play.

Thank goodness that never happened. The Barbie house-raising project always occupied our full play time and now I know what a blessing that was because if we had actually gotten to the point when the Barbies could relax, the fun would have been over for us. I mean, really, what is there to do with a bunch of stiff-legged dolls who already have their house in order?

I understand now that play is all about the journey because once you've arrived at your destination the game is over. And that's why castle tree houses disturb me. The destination has already been furnished and there is no need to play. Play involves imagination and creativity. It's a chance to practice being a grown-up, to invent, to innovate. When a kid is plopped in the middle of a complete playhouse furnished with a plastic kitchen brimming with plastic food, what's left to do? The fun part has already been done.

Childhood is something that should be enjoyed, not managed. We all know of kids who need their own palm pilots to keep their schedules straight - horseback riding at 3:00, ballet at 5:30, Swim practice at 7:15. Kids today sure don't have a lot of free time so maybe parents think that by providing ready-made play areas they are helping their kids get straight to the business of playing. No time to waste on making stuff up, let's get to work - PLAY, darn it!

But maybe what kids really need is free time. Undoubtedly that is one of the few things affluent parents no longer provide. What a waste.