Our playground was an asphalt patch between two concrete slabs of housing blocks. From that petrified soil rose iron skeletons of swings, see-saws, arching ladders and crawl-through rings. A concrete sand box was the centrepiece – a favourite spot for dogs and cats. The yard was always alive with yelling and laughing, punctuated by rhythms of bouncing balls and rope skipping. In winter, we begged the groundskeeper to hose down the asphalt with water – if he was in a mood, or sober, he would oblige – an ice rink was made. Hockey and snowball fights kept us warm and happy. There was always an audience: parents peeking down on us from windows, six wooden benches full of disgruntled old-timers, or drunks goading us on. It was a closed economy – there would always be enough empty beer bottles to reclaim for cash and score some candy.
Still from "Replika Repliki" (Kazimierz Bendkowski & Jodie Baltazar)
My favourite game was playing bottle caps filled with wax, adorned with flags of our favourite countries (cut out of our parents' atlases). With a broken brick we would draw a racing track on the asphalt, meandering between all the iron attractions. The caps were flicked one move at a time - it took hours to complete the game. Played on all fours, sometimes even flat on the stomach, the bottle cap race intimated us with the ground and all of its trappings, from spit marks to bird droppings, or a chewing gum spot, now all solid and black. I still remember the wonderful smell of drying asphalt after a summer rain.
There was an uneven sidewalk around the yard, replete with cracks and missing slabs. That was a bike race track. No race ended without going over the handlebars into the spiky bushes. The pebble fights in the sandbox had one rule: no rock big enough to cause serious damage. In the heat of a battle, many a dried up dog poop was slung at the enemy.
The only time the yard grew silent, was an international football match, an episode of "Rich Man Poor Man" or the final instalment of "Roots."
Ten years of this, and then we grew up. There was blood and slight concussions, a few broken limbs. No ambulance was ever called, no lawsuit filed. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best time a child could have had. I still have the scars to prove it.
A short film (above photo) was made which perfectly comments on the transition we've had since those days. Watch it HERE and ponder.
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