David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published May 3, 2005

I wonder if hamsters could sizzle on a steel slide

I had hamsters when I was a kid. They lived in a palatial cage that featured everything a hamster needed to be healthy and happy -- a soft bed of wood shavings, a water bottle that perpetually dripped into the shavings, a maze of tubing that allowed them to fulfill an instinct to scurry through tight places and, of course, there was the ubiquitous exercise wheel for burning off those dreaded carbs. There's nothing a hamster hates more than love handles.

I had forgotten about my old hamster cage until recently when the wife, kids and I were at a fast-food joint choking down a few heat-lamp burgers. The wife and I weren't there for ourselves, we were there for Phil and Anna. If it were up to me, I'd never darken the door of this particular chain again. I've come to detest the food. I can't understand why anyone who doesn't have kids would willingly go there when there are so many tastier alternatives.

But it's all about the kids. This worldwide restaurant chain is obviously geared toward our demographic. They use every gimmick in the book -- bright colors, cheerful mascots, "free" toys. I won't name names, but you know the one. You'll find it at nearly every interstate exit across this great land of ours, pulling in kids by the millions (could it be billions?).

The biggest draw for my kids are the playgrounds. They like the food, but they love the playgrounds. They love them so much that often the food we buy goes uneaten. I've stopped ordering full meals for them because I know they'll be ready to eat a real meal shortly after we leave. Hot fast food is bad enough, but cold fast food is nearly inedible. I usually don't eat when we go. I'd rather be hungry a little while longer.

It was during a recent visit to one of these super-sized, french-fried playgrounds that I finally made the hamster connection. These playgrounds, with their labyrinths of winding tubing, are basically giant hamster cages for kids. All they lack are the inverted bottles of water so the kids can suckle a quick drink.

As much as I enjoy making fun of the fast-food industry, they aren't the only ones who feature these human-sized hamster palaces. They're at almost every city/county park. I don't know who the first playground designer was to make the hamster-child connection, but I'll bet he's a zillionaire by now.

It was a lot different when I was a kid. Today, the playgrounds stand on soft mulch or a springy rubber surface that feels like it's made from pulverized Wham-O Super Balls. It's an amazing invention. When my son falls off the monkey bars, he doesn't get hurt. In fact, it's so spongy that he often bounces a few times before finally coming to a rest.

Back in the early 1970s, when I was swinging on the monkey bars, we had dirt, maybe. Dirt, I tell ya! When I fell, I got dirty, scraped knees -- if I were lucky! Some playgrounds didn't even have dirt. There were plenty of playgrounds that stood on concrete, like someone had an old parking lot they weren't using and decided to turn it into a playground. Believe it or not, concrete wasn't the worst of it. The only thing more unforgiving than concrete is a surface of small, jagged rocks. Playground designers back then somehow thought small landscaping rocks were a good idea. They were wrong. If I fell on one of those rocks at just the right angle, I'd poke a hole straight through my Sears Tuff-Skin jeans (with the reinforced knees, mind you) all the way through to my skin. There's nothing like the threat of a puncture wound to inspire a young boy to monkey bar greatness.

The slides were different back then too. Today's playground slides are made of colorful plastic that doesn't get hot even on the most brutal August day. Like the cars of that era, the slides of the '70s were made of good ol' American steel. After an afternoon under the blazing sun, they'd reach a temperature of, oh, 380 degrees, which is roughly the same temperature at which 7-year-old leg skin goes directly from solid to vapor. Sometimes we'd get to the park early in the morning to discover a pool of yellow-brown goo at the bottom of the shiny steel slide. We knew then that the slide had vaporized yet another slow-moving young victim. We'd hang our heads and whisper a soft prayer for our fallen comrade. Then we'd hose off the residue and enjoy another playful day.

I think I would have liked today's hamster playgrounds when I was a kid. I've been in a few -- not for fun, but rather during search-and-rescue missions for my offspring. You'd be surprised how easily a toddler can get lost in one of those things. One of these days I'm going to find a Minotaur living in a dark, damp corner feasting on a chubby little patron. Hey, even a Minotaur needs a break from french fries and soda.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.