In the process of rummaging through the family archives I came across some pictures of the climbing frame my dad made us. At the time I remember being incredibly excited about having my own playground in the back garden, but looking at the photos now all I can think of is the potential lawsuits.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know those were different times. In many respects children these days are cosseted and mollycoddled, wrapped up in cotton wool by a risk adverse society which blindly follows an ever more sensationalist media. But humor is created from contrasts. And there is certainly a contrast between this lovingly crafted pile of scaffolding poles, car tyres and lumps of chain and the modern playgym where even the padding has padding.
I also love these photos because they show my usually exquisitely groomed and manicured little brother in just his underpants. The grubby little urchin.
I’ve been going through the old photos at my parents house with the intention of scanning and throwing online. So, one weekend soon me and the scanner are going over there – because carrying that there is easier than the mountains of photo albums… All of which, of course, I look adorable in.
I know there’s one of me eating dirt – a staple of all children’s diet in the 70s/80s… forbidden now of course.
Hang on – your dad built you a potentially lethal climbing frame in your back yard?! Living the dream you were… living the dream!
Honest.
That is too funny. The coating of rust is a nice touch.
cosseted and mollycoddled
I so need to get a British/American translation guide.
Your dad was a god among men.
My mum was a woman ahead of her time, though I had a 70′s childhood I was never allowed to eat dirt or go on dubious looking rides at the fairground or at the park, under her stewardship even a paper plate held at a squiffy angle could in an instant become a lethal weapon.
Public toilet seats all had to wiped down, lined with toilet paper or in extreme cases ‘hovered’ over til the deed was done.
Of course her risk awareness didn’t extend to not smoking around children, and nor did the rest of the family. I grew up in an atmosphere of 60 a day.
Is it us, or does it just look like Amy looking over the top of Sam’s head in the second picture?
That’s not Sam, it’s Megan. Sam’s only in the first one (the toddler plummeting off the ladder)
All it needed was a bed of rusty nails for a soft landing.
The pictures are in the wrong chronological order. The rusty one was before I painted it. It was made from the coat racks from the girls changing room at the school where I taught when it was refurbished.
Spare me the humilliation. Dad – you could have made me put some trousers on!!!