This Used To Be My Playground

Don’t look back
Keep your head held high
Don’t ask them why because life is short
And before you know you’re feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don’t hold on to the past
Well that’s too much to ask
This used to be my playground (ah used to be)
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end?

Before recycled rubber playground tiles, plastic slides, and helicopter parenting, there were the brutal beauties of Gen X playgrounds: Towering metal slides, spinning death wheels, and monkey bars that could cook an egg in July. We climbed them, jumped from them, and occasionally got the wind knocked out of us by them. These were the structures of my childhood from the San Gabriel Valley to the Permian Basin of West Texas. The equipment was built not for safety apparently for guts and scraped knees. Today, almost all of this playground equipment has been removed. But, they live on as legends in the collective memory of generations raised without warning signs or rubber mulch.

Old Metal Slides

Old-school monkey bars were metal skeletons of bravery, often blazing hot under the Heartland sun. Also, frequently coated in layer upon layer of chipping paint — possibly lead, probably questionable. They stood tall and proud on rock-hard dirt or concrete (what were they thinking), daring me to climb, swing, and hang upside down with zero supervision and no safety padding in sight. We tested our courage and upper body strength on those unforgiving rungs, earning blisters, calluses, and the occasional knocked-out wind.

Playground by the Bethany Public Library | Bethany, Oklahoma | 2012

2025 UPDATE: All this playground equipment was removed and replaced several years ago with new, safer designs,

Metal Merry-Go-Rounds

The metal merry-go-rounds of Gen X playgrounds were equal parts thrill ride and injury roulette. Usually encircled by a well-worn circle of smooth dirt, they were heavy, low to the ground, and built like industrial equipment. One kid would run alongside to build speed while the others clung to the bars, legs flailing and shrieks rising as the world blurred around them. The brave stood in the center, holding on for dear life, while others tried to jump on mid-spin like stunt performers. There were no seatbelts, no limits, and no slowing down. I frequently left the merry-go-round dizzy, scraped, and exhilarated. LOL.

Witch’s Hat

The Witch’s Hat was a spinning playground death wheel disguised as fun. Mounted on a single pole, this cone-shaped piece of equipment looked innocent enough, until a pack of Gen X kids got it going at top speed. You’d hang on for dear life as the centrifugal force flung you outward, your Sears The Winner II sneakers barely gripping the metal. Some kids sat inside, some climbed outside, and at least one always ended up airborne. There were no seatbelts, no soft landings, and definitely no adult supervision. I miss the dizzying laughter more than I can say! I don’t miss having the wind knocked out of me when I fell off.

Octopus Climber

This Octopus Climber, sometimes affectionately called an octopus slide was located at Happy Hollow Zoo in San Jose, California. It was typically a low, sprawling structure with a central climbing mound and thick chains or bars radiating outward, resembling an octopus’s tentacles. Kids scrambled over and under the chain legs. 

Nirvana Smiley Face: The Emoji Before Emojis

Those spring-mounted playground animals, usually a horse or duck were the grandest disappointment. They looked fun at first glance but were mostly a test of patience and thigh strength. Mounted on a giant metal coil, they hardly moved. Like, the ones I played on had zero spring. As far as I was concerned these were just a warm-up act to the real dangers waiting for me elsewhere on the playground.

Pay Phone

The pay phone was once a fixture of daily life, on sidewalks, in gas stations, outside grocery stores and high school gyms. For many Gen Xers, it was more than a convenience; it was a lifeline.

I remember periods growing up when our home phone was disconnected for nonpayment. We’d hunt down a pay phone whenever we needed to make a call, usually to the phone company. Haha. Also, we’d check the coin return for loose change! If you needed a ride, had an emergency, or wanted to call someone just to hear their voice, the pay phone was your friend.

Darker Memory

But pay phones also hold darker memories. In 2010, I wrote about Tonya Rodgers, a teenage girl from Ninnekah, Oklahoma, who was abducted, raped, and murdered in 1990. She had been out late, standing at a pay phone, talking to her boyfriend. That detail, just trying to stay connected, to hold onto love or routine in a small-town night, has always stayed with me.

The pay phone was a symbol of independence and necessity, but also vulnerability. It was public, but also, unsheltered. And now that they’ve nearly vanished, their absence leaves behind a complicated kind of nostalgia. For me, they represent a mix of hardship and loss.