Heaven Was a Playground
By Wayne Swanson
4 May 2008
On Saturday mornings, the basketball court on a patch of blacktop behind a nondescript elementary school was the only place we wanted to be.
It really wasn't much of a court. The baselines were too short. The surface was cracked and uneven. Often there were no nets unless we brought our own. But for more than 20 years, there was always a game.
We were young and single when it started. Soon enough, fathers would bring young sons to watch. Eventually fathers were showing sons how to play. Later, sons were showing up fathers. But the game went on.
Inevitably, times changed. In today's world, schoolyards are no longer community parks. On weekends, they stand deserted behind locked gates. We clambered over the fence, but eventually that became an issue for older bodies. Generational warfare started to break out on the court. The turnout dwindled. Finally, one Saturday, no one came.
I don't play anymore, for which my knees are thankful. But I long for the days when heaven was a playground.
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