This used to be my playground!

By Emmanuelle

Of course, we remember! The playgrounds. Not at the malls! At the school, at the town plaza, at every imaginable place where there was nature, where there was space. Firmly packed earth or loose sand for bare feet to run or jump or dig toes into. Patches of grass, green or browning, soft carpet to tumbling heads and bungling butts.  Precious moments of freedom from the adult’s worried, watchful, and sometimes disapproving eyes.

The built-in equipments – swings, slides, hanging bars – we quickly tired of. One can only swing as high as the chains allow, or slide a short distance to the ground, or hang on to the bars until the end of time. Monotony is relative to ennui. That’s boredom to the first degree.

And so, of course, we mostly remember the games we played! Patintero, tumbang preso, kitkit, luksong tinik, chinese garter, jumping rope, limbo rock, syatung, touchball, hide and seek, tag, langit at lupa, shake shake shampoo, holen, jackstones, blowing plastic balloons, the infamous pair of gagamba and teks, the favorite slipper game of banding, and a lot more. The young ones invent, improvise, make-do with or inherit the games from the once young as each batch of salinlahi replaces, but most often overlaps.

The marks of our childhood passing – lines chalked or scratched by stone on the cement or lines made by water poured on the ground, rusty dented cans, sticks or stones, ropes or elastics, balls and marbles, plastic straws and tubes, lost cards, splayed slippers, dead spiders.

We dared ourselves, we dared the others,   if we can do it, why can’t you? If you can do it, we can do it better! We cheered, we jeered, we leered! The rowdier, the louder the better. Dirty looks, dirty words, dirty finger. Stick them down there, up there, where they hurt. Taga-bayan versus taga-baryo, taga-Araneta St. versus taga-Burgos St., taga-1st section against taga-last section, the kuyas against the mas bata. Winner takes all – yesterday’s savings or the next day’s baon, the cards, the marbles, the gagamba, the adoring crowd trailing the victors all the way home.

Beyond the playground, bati na tayo. It was just a game. Friendly slaps to the back, cuffs to the arm. We play, we fight again tomorrow. As we parted, we made the thumbs-up gesture. Meaning okay ka, okay tayo.

Then we ran, we rushed home. Straight to shower, or straight to cower from Nanay’s kurot or Tatay’s palo. Their question: Where were you? Our answer: Room cleaners po. We got a pinch. We tried another answer: Ran errands? This time we got a really good whack. Maybe several whacks.  The evidences were all there – streaks of sweat on the fresh cover of earth, covering you, covering all the rest of your friends. Matted hair. Torn shirt, torn skin. Breath slowing, but not slowed yet. That secret, lingering smile. An exciting end to a rather dreary schoolday. Guilty, yes. Punished, yes. Happy, yes.

We were shameless too. We made the neighbors’ yards extensions to our own. We climbed over fences strewn with broken glass on top, or barbed wires strung thick and high. To gastronomic delights beyond – mangoes, guavas, caimito, chico, sargwelas, lomboy, tamarindo, and the very rare calcalaotit.

What was all that hassle about Adam and Eve? We, too, got full on foridden fruits, stress on the plural. Yet, God didn’t run us out of paradise. The neighbors’ dogs ran after us, though. We also got terrific tummyaches. Our parents’ question: What happened to you? Our answer: Nalipasan lang po ng gutom.  

And what about the space between these ears? Where we soared kites of dreams and whimsical follies?  This used to be our playground too. 

Some other time, my dear, some other time.  

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/)

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