Stsarting out

POLLY WOLLY DOODLE

 

The children come from all directions. They skip. They sing. They are happy to be free. It is June 10th.  Grammar and junior high schools have closed for the summer. Green window shades have been rolled down. Doors are locked. City swimming pools and playgrounds are about ready for the onslaught of the children who won't be going north for the summer.

 

The drinking fountains have been tested and several still need to be fixed. A few concrete steps for the young fry to reach the water  remain in bad condition. Playground attendants and mothers will have to help until –well, no date is set.

 

Miss Polly McDorsey , only twenty years old, is in charge of Playground # 11, Western Park's kids. Her experience is next to nothing but her smile and demeanor (and lack of other interested young people) gets her the five day a week job. She is aware of the skimpy salary, but needs the experience and most of all she needs the joy of being with children.

 

In going thru supplies, Polly sees two of the ten pins are cracked, the beanbag board can't stand up, the Rec Room used for plays, for stormy days, is musty, dusty. Everything is carefully written down to give to Mrs. Wycliffe who puts the list in a folder and thanks Polly for her vigilance. The semi-easy job Polly attacks first. In the supply room there is a large bag of rags. Before dusting she tries to open the one small window for fresh air but it won't move. Not only does she manage to dust the desk and tables, she brings a new bottle of polish with her the following day. The ten pins, she has decided, are too far gone to repair but the bean bag board is fixable. Her first stop after work, her first full day, is the hardware store near her home. The owner, Joshua, glues a wooden wedge on the back of it, lays it flat, and asks Polly to come back for it the next day. 'How much does the city owe you, Josh?' she asks. 'Are you kidding, Polly? No charge. Watch out for my daughter, she loves the playground and goes almost every day. I'll tell her to say 'hello' to you. Her name is Gloria. She's six years old, adorable and smart, knows the entire alphabet and all the presidents' names in order from Washington on.'

 

The swings are full before Polly arrives. No one is yet on the sliding board but she knows they will be there in the morning before the metal gets too hot. She has to sign for three bags of sand for the sand pile and delights as they are emptied around the sliding board. As she watches, little girls tug at her skirt. One tugs harder than the others, looks up into her face and says, 'I'm Gloria. My daddy fixed our bean bag board.' Whoosh, Polly lifts her up, swings her in circles and puts her down. How foolish she was. Every child wants to be swung. Each gets heavier and heavier until her legs and back give out. Slowly she walks to her office and is followed by all those who weren't swung around yet. Lesson one has been learned.

 

June moves into July. It is hot. As the temperature reaches 98 there are less and less children to watch over. The older boys stick around. Polly sees them with their cell phones, their cameras, their decks of cards. She's familiar with the wonders of cyberspace, modems, I pods, has her own, but worries that these boys have grown up too fast, became young men before they were boys. The future is becoming the past before she and they can enjoy the now. The city gives the play area almost nothing.

 

Mid-July the thunderstorms hit about 4 p.m. four or five times a week. Her small salary is really too much for what she does and a sort of guilt hangs over her, hanging on the ropes of boredom.  It is time to go elsewhere, progress. Polly, never before a quitter, resigns.

 

The repaired bean bag is locked up with the basket balls, the ten pins, the crayons, colored papers, dull scissors. Polly has a bag full of memories. She walks between the raindrops and hears laughter, singing. Under their colorful umbrellas are dozens of children, singing Polly Wolly Doodle all the Day. They hand her cookies their moms had made especially for her, brownies, a slab or fudge that begins to melt. Two of the older boys use their i- pads to take photos.

 

Polly lifts Gloria to the fountain as the step never was fixed. Gloria kisses her cheek and Polly waves goodbye.