Every new school year, some kid would come back with a cast on their wrist, their arm, their leg, or maybe even their neck. If you're Gen X, it's highly likely that each kid's injury was spurred by some sort of riotous, unsupervised game near the local park's jungle gym that resulted in a catastrophic bone break.
Gen X kids were really built different back then. Fearless, high-climbing, and unbothered by the idea of casting their broken bones in hospital-grade papermaché, all that mattered back in those days was your middle school crush's opinion of you and your insatiable craving to play the most dangerous versions of tag. Kids are imaginative, so with our terrifyingly steep, slippery, and metallic play structures, we could concoct multiple versions of Tag without ever getting bored and we'd play until the streetlights came on… And that's exactly what childhood should be.
When Gen X fell, they got back up, scraped off the dirt, and hoped they wouldn't be the next one sporting a crispy white cast in homeroom. Although if they did break an arm, at least they'd be the hero that let everybody sign our cast with a Sharpie.
Gen X kids were really built different back then. Fearless, high-climbing, and unbothered by the idea of casting their broken bones in hospital-grade papermaché, all that mattered back in those days was your middle school crush's opinion of you and your insatiable craving to play the most dangerous versions of tag. Kids are imaginative, so with our terrifyingly steep, slippery, and metallic play structures, we could concoct multiple versions of Tag without ever getting bored and we'd play until the streetlights came on… And that's exactly what childhood should be.
When Gen X fell, they got back up, scraped off the dirt, and hoped they wouldn't be the next one sporting a crispy white cast in homeroom. Although if they did break an arm, at least they'd be the hero that let everybody sign our cast with a Sharpie.
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