At 700 N. Fourth Ave. E., lies an empty lot where my wooden kingdom once stood tall and proud. The grass and the weeds grow desolate in the earth that I ran upon everyday. The wood used to groan and moan under my feet as I played joyously, not a care in the world. I sometimes stood at the very top, looking out at all the other children, and pretended that it was my kingdom, my castle, and my world. It was all mine. I knew every step within the walls of my kingdom and I could sprint through it without looking down, without thinking, without tripping. Everyday, the splinters called my name, begging me to come play. Often, the wood did splinter my hands, but the battle wound of recess became my bragging rights in class. In the nooks and crannies of the wooden castle, secrets were shared and kept.
I grew up in a small house only two blocks from my wooden kingdom, and I could visit it whenever I wished. I thought someday I would bring my own kids to the playground and we would play hide-and-seek. In a way, I measured my years in that fort. I grew too tall to run under the wooden bridge and often forgot to duck, ramming my head into the bottom. I could no longer crawl through the small spaces with ease. I was beginning to grow up.
They said older kids were doing bad things in my kingdom, smoking pot and vandalizing. They said it was becoming a bad neighborhood and that the fort was too much maintenance, that it was dangerous for children. They said that my kingdom was to be torn down in a few years. I never believed they would actually do it.
As a child, I thought my life was highly complicated. My bed time was 8 o'clock, my
mom made me bring my own lunch to school (how embarrassing), I had to help with chores
around the house, my older sister picked on me and my parents had been divorced as long as I
could remember. I wasn't worried, however, about college, my future or money, terrible mistakes
I had made, people I missed or relationships I had ruined. I was free of the troubles of life. My
biggest concern was who I was going to play with at recess. I took for granted how great my life
was before I had to grow up. The lot where my wooden kingdom once stood is unbelievably
small. I thought my world was so big within those walls. Turns out — it wasn't. So when the
bulldozers tore down the Emerson Hough Elementary School playground, like a tornado flattens
the earth, they crushed my childhood along with it.