I was driving home from going grocery shopping, and my youngest sister was with me. As we drove past an elementary school playground, she commented on the new playground equipment, specifically a plastic slide that replaced the old, metal one.

It brought back memories of spending hours at those school parks. We gave the "regulars" names; this one was the Yellow Slide Park, because the biggest and best slide was, believe it or not, yellow. Profound, I know. We would swing on the swings until we were high enough to see over the top; we would get dizzy on the merry-go-round, hanging off the edge and snagging strategically placed coats and other miscellaneous clothing on the ground; we would zoom down the slides, with our hair (the girls', anyway) sticking straight out with static; and, ninja-esque, we would climb up the slides . . . on the outside.

And the specific detail that I remembered when my sister reminded me of these memories? That now replaced metal slide used to burn your hands if you tried to climb it on a sunny day.

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