Splash Pad Mad

In the three summers since the interactive fountain opened only a block from my home, I’ve had three opportunities to take my grandchildren. Two of those times, it was not functioning.

I remember the excitement I felt when the playground itself first opened. I attended the grand opening, anticipating the fun it would provide for families in the community. When Covid broke out and all the equipment was taped “off limits,” I grieved in my heart each time I passed. Then I rejoiced again at the sound of kids playing there when it reopened.

The addition of the splash pad was the icing on the cake. Is there any happier sight or sound than kids splashing in water? Even though our grandchildren aren’t here often, I looked forward to seeing them enjoy the splash pad eventually. Meanwhile, I loved seeing neighborhood kids enjoying it.

When I saw people complain about it on Facebook, even calling it “an embarrassment,” I spoke up to defend it. Maybe other towns do offer fancier facilities, but I have a small idea of how long and hard our Parks Committee volunteers worked to make this a reality for north-end residents.

So, on the evening that our thirteen and eleven-year-old grandsons declared they’d rather go to the splash pad than the beach, I happily walked over with them. As we drew nearer and saw no other kids, my heart fell. Was it out of order, again?

Sure enough, a sign read “Closed for Repairs.” Phooey.

Appalled by the amount of trash lying around, the phrase, “This is why we can’t have nice things” came to mind. I half-heartedly suggested to the boys that we could play “trash pick-up” instead. I might have insisted, if our opportunities to spend time with them came more often. I also would have chastised the one who said, “This place sucks.” In my own frustration, I let his words slide. We walked home dry and disappointed.

The next day, I felt convicted. With zero knowledge of why the facility wasn’t working, how long it had been out of order, or who might be waiting on what part before repairs could begin, I had begun to judge. Would I become one of those complainers, bashing the “they and them” who ought to be doing a better job? Or would I find a way to make my community a nicer place? Donning rubber gloves and carrying a bucket to collect garbage, I returned to the scene alone. In addition to the expected candy wrappers, beverage bottles, and cigarette butts, I filled my pail twice with four socks, eight Q-tips, and most of a banana. I placed all in the garbage and recycling containers placed mere steps from the park bench.

“What’s wrong with people?” I wanted to yell. But I already know the answer. We live in a broken world with broken people. We are all self-centered and entitled in our own way. My brokenness may not look like your brokenness, but it’s certainly there. We all need Jesus to work in our hearts.

Guess what? My little mission cost me all of twenty minutes. It got me outside, moving my body, in the fresh air and sunshine. I even grabbed a few extra pieces of litter on the walk home. And hey, I wrote a blog post about it. I realize the chances of the litterbugs reading my words are slim, but maybe my readers will see some other area where they can start helping and stop griping. I may not be able to repair the splash pad, but I can do what I can do and feel better for it—about myself and about my community.

How about you?