Ramp to nowhere: the morning after fire destroyed the Sway Fun glider.
Where were you on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving? That's what the police will be asking you, if they ever discover that you were responsible for the apparent act of arson that lit up the field behind our house like a campfire gone awry. Have you thought about what you might say? If your alibi doesn't persuade the authorities of your innocence, they're likely to stare into your guilty eyes and demand an answer to the question the whole neighborhood is wondering: What were you thinking?
I can only speculate - and hope - that you weren't thinking. Because if your irresponsible and cowardly crime was the deliberate end of thoughtful planning, then breaking the law is merely the beginning of your problems. I would prefer to think that you are young, perhaps one of several peers involved in a prank that got out of hand before it could be stopped, and the whole unfortunate incident is very much contrary to your character. I would like to believe that you are ashamed of your actions and consumed with regret. I wish that you could muster the tremendous courage to step forward, admit what you have done, and begin the long journey to make a complete reparation for it. That is the most optimistic scenario I can envision.
Whoever you are, you certainly had plenty of audacity (or maybe just the deficient intelligence) to pull your stunt along the perimeter of an elementary school playground, just at the edge of a field that is bordered by the back yards of more than two dozen homes. Plenty of people are still awake around midnight on a Saturday, you know, and a small inferno in the November darkness is likely to attract attention. You must have scampered away in a hurry, or else you would have found yourself in police custody right away.
Our youngest daughter, Melinda, has a window in her room that overlooks the field where you were prowling. She is accustomed to observing the various sports teams, frisbee-chasing dogs and kite enthusiasts that regularly populate the large, open space. For six years as a student at the elementary school, she would look out of that window with great anticipation when the annual preparations for the spring field day were underway. But on the night that you chose to vandalize the school playground, Melinda happened to sit up in bed and notice an orange-yellow glow upon her closed blinds.
"There's a fire at the school!" she interrupted our sleep to alert us. My wife and I peeked through the louvers and tried to discern the precise location of the intensely bright flames. The blaze was obviously a good distance from the school building. Exactly what was on fire?
"Probably a Porta-Potty by the baseball diamond," I muttered sleepily. Red and blue lights indicated that police were already on the scene, making a 911 call unnecessary. Though it was disturbing to think that a budding pyromaniac might be running about torching outhouses, the fire that you set seemed to be confined to a small area, and as the situation appeared to be under control, my wife and I readily resumed our slumber. Melinda stayed awake long enough to see firefighters extinguish the flames and flashlight beams scan the smoldering ground.
The next morning we realized just how intense the fire must have been. Daylight revealed that a neighbor's fir tree stands directly in the line of sight from our house to the location of the blaze, preventing us from getting a direct look at the damage. Incredibly, what we had perceived as an unobstructed view of the flames was, in fact, a fiery glow so bright it could be seen clearly through thick, coniferous branches. Melinda walked to the end of our yard to find out what it was that you had set on fire, and what she discovered was troubling news to us.
The particular piece of playground equipment that you destroyed is called a Sway Fun glider. It is a wheelchair-accessible platform with accompanying bench seats that is intended to help make playgrounds more inclusive for the entire student population. That's right, pyro. Outside of all the jungle gyms, swings and slides you might have had the pleasure of ruining, you chose to set fire to the only piece of playground equipment that children in wheelchairs were able to use independently. What's more, the Sway Fun glider that you melted for kicks cost thousands of dollars. If you haven't already asked yourself this question, let me put it to you now: Was it worth it?
Maybe it's due to my fortunate history, an upbringing in which I always had everything I needed and much that I desired, but I have never understood the compulsion to destroy public property. I remember frequenting a neighborhood playground that was long past its best years, and much of its equipment had been ruined by vandals. It made little sense to my youthful mind that anyone could derive much pleasure from breaking swingset chains, tearing the rims off basketball backboards, or wrenching the handlebars from teeter-totters. The worst part about it, though, was the fact that damaged equipment tended to remain unrepaired, as though nobody cared. What was once an inviting and joyful playground became contaminated with sadness. It was senseless to me then, and it is just as pointless to me today.
"Why would somebody do something like that, Mr. Hunt?" students will sometimes ask me while I am on recess duty. They'll point to some profanity that has been carved into one of the plastic slides or stare at the low, wooden posts that used to support a comfortable bench before someone ripped it apart. I see in their furrowed brows and upturned mouths the same unhappy puzzlement that I experienced at their age, and still I have no good answer.
"I don't know," I'll admit to them, "but it sure is sad, isn't it?" When they nod their heads in agreement, I will usually say something about how easy it is for one person's thoughtless act to ruin the fun for everybody. It's my hope that, should they ever find themselves on the careless and desperate brink of vandalism one day, they'll remember how they felt when they saw the consequences of such actions.
So let me sum it all up for you. You caused thousands of dollars of property damage. You put other people's safety at risk. You tied up the services of our police and firefighters. You destroyed a piece of playground equipment that was intended to allow children in wheelchairs the opportunity to share some active fun with their friends at recess. You've made a lot of people angry, and you've tainted the minds of every kid in the neighborhood with a touch of cynicism they'll feel every time they look at the empty space where the Sway Fun used to be.
If we ever find you, you know what we're going to ask. What were you thinking?
The Price of Vandalism
Ramp to nowhere: the morning after fire destroyed the Sway Fun glider.
Where were you on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving? That's what the police will be asking you, if they ever discover that you were responsible for the apparent act of arson that lit up the field behind our house like a campfire gone awry. Have you thought about what you might say? If your alibi doesn't persuade the authorities of your innocence, they're likely to stare into your guilty eyes and demand an answer to the question the whole neighborhood is wondering: What were you thinking?
I can only speculate - and hope - that you weren't thinking. Because if your irresponsible and cowardly crime was the deliberate end of thoughtful planning, then breaking the law is merely the beginning of your problems. I would prefer to think that you are young, perhaps one of several peers involved in a prank that got out of hand before it could be stopped, and the whole unfortunate incident is very much contrary to your character. I would like to believe that you are ashamed of your actions and consumed with regret. I wish that you could muster the tremendous courage to step forward, admit what you have done, and begin the long journey to make a complete reparation for it. That is the most optimistic scenario I can envision.
Whoever you are, you certainly had plenty of audacity (or maybe just the deficient intelligence) to pull your stunt along the perimeter of an elementary school playground, just at the edge of a field that is bordered by the back yards of more than two dozen homes. Plenty of people are still awake around midnight on a Saturday, you know, and a small inferno in the November darkness is likely to attract attention. You must have scampered away in a hurry, or else you would have found yourself in police custody right away.
Our youngest daughter, Melinda, has a window in her room that overlooks the field where you were prowling. She is accustomed to observing the various sports teams, frisbee-chasing dogs and kite enthusiasts that regularly populate the large, open space. For six years as a student at the elementary school, she would look out of that window with great anticipation when the annual preparations for the spring field day were underway. But on the night that you chose to vandalize the school playground, Melinda happened to sit up in bed and notice an orange-yellow glow upon her closed blinds.
"There's a fire at the school!" she interrupted our sleep to alert us. My wife and I peeked through the louvers and tried to discern the precise location of the intensely bright flames. The blaze was obviously a good distance from the school building. Exactly what was on fire?
"Probably a Porta-Potty by the baseball diamond," I muttered sleepily. Red and blue lights indicated that police were already on the scene, making a 911 call unnecessary. Though it was disturbing to think that a budding pyromaniac might be running about torching outhouses, the fire that you set seemed to be confined to a small area, and as the situation appeared to be under control, my wife and I readily resumed our slumber. Melinda stayed awake long enough to see firefighters extinguish the flames and flashlight beams scan the smoldering ground.
The next morning we realized just how intense the fire must have been. Daylight revealed that a neighbor's fir tree stands directly in the line of sight from our house to the location of the blaze, preventing us from getting a direct look at the damage. Incredibly, what we had perceived as an unobstructed view of the flames was, in fact, a fiery glow so bright it could be seen clearly through thick, coniferous branches. Melinda walked to the end of our yard to find out what it was that you had set on fire, and what she discovered was troubling news to us.
The particular piece of playground equipment that you destroyed is called a Sway Fun glider. It is a wheelchair-accessible platform with accompanying bench seats that is intended to help make playgrounds more inclusive for the entire student population. That's right, pyro. Outside of all the jungle gyms, swings and slides you might have had the pleasure of ruining, you chose to set fire to the only piece of playground equipment that children in wheelchairs were able to use independently. What's more, the Sway Fun glider that you melted for kicks cost thousands of dollars. If you haven't already asked yourself this question, let me put it to you now: Was it worth it?
Maybe it's due to my fortunate history, an upbringing in which I always had everything I needed and much that I desired, but I have never understood the compulsion to destroy public property. I remember frequenting a neighborhood playground that was long past its best years, and much of its equipment had been ruined by vandals. It made little sense to my youthful mind that anyone could derive much pleasure from breaking swingset chains, tearing the rims off basketball backboards, or wrenching the handlebars from teeter-totters. The worst part about it, though, was the fact that damaged equipment tended to remain unrepaired, as though nobody cared. What was once an inviting and joyful playground became contaminated with sadness. It was senseless to me then, and it is just as pointless to me today.
"Why would somebody do something like that, Mr. Hunt?" students will sometimes ask me while I am on recess duty. They'll point to some profanity that has been carved into one of the plastic slides or stare at the low, wooden posts that used to support a comfortable bench before someone ripped it apart. I see in their furrowed brows and upturned mouths the same unhappy puzzlement that I experienced at their age, and still I have no good answer.
"I don't know," I'll admit to them, "but it sure is sad, isn't it?" When they nod their heads in agreement, I will usually say something about how easy it is for one person's thoughtless act to ruin the fun for everybody. It's my hope that, should they ever find themselves on the careless and desperate brink of vandalism one day, they'll remember how they felt when they saw the consequences of such actions.
So let me sum it all up for you. You caused thousands of dollars of property damage. You put other people's safety at risk. You tied up the services of our police and firefighters. You destroyed a piece of playground equipment that was intended to allow children in wheelchairs the opportunity to share some active fun with their friends at recess. You've made a lot of people angry, and you've tainted the minds of every kid in the neighborhood with a touch of cynicism they'll feel every time they look at the empty space where the Sway Fun used to be.
If we ever find you, you know what we're going to ask. What were you thinking?