The Merry-Go-Round

They don't have merry-go-rounds anymore. Why is that? Playgrounds are static these days. Everything is safe, bolted down, rustproof. They're paved with squishy material so if there is an unexpected landing by anyone, it is a safe one, no harm done. I'm all for that. But in exchange for safety we have given up merry-go-rounds? Children today never knew the thrill of the merry-go-round. They never knew what it was like to hang on to a metal bar, one foot cemented to the circular wooden platform, the other kicking up speed till everything spun crazily, hanging on tight to keep from flying off. There were no thoughts of landing on hard concrete, of getting concussed or having the wind knocked out of you. There was only spinning trees and the blurred horizon, the still air suddenly whipped into froth; and the pull. A tug so hard it turned your knuckles white with the fighting of it. A tug that wrapped its invisible arms around you, its one hundred invisible arms, and tried pulling and prying you from that speeding platform. It was a pull that made the cells in your body pop with excitement, that made something race around under your skin, made percussion instruments of your internal organs. And instead of screaming in fear, you could only laugh, hysterically, the way you weren't supposed to, inches away from being splattered. And when the world slowed down and the risk of falling ceased, you stuck your foot back out on the earth and pushed and pushed and pushed till the world went around at a dizzying speed again. This time you'd risk a little more: lean out from the platform, tip you head back, close your eyes, and let the day contract into a single great battle between holding on and the temping desire to let go.