Putting the Skinned Knees Back Into Playtime

Putting the Skinned Knees Back Into Playtime

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/20/fashion/20retro.html

By ALEX WILLIAMS
Published: May 20, 2007

JOSEPH GALLO, 10, of Santa Cruz, Calif., is well armed in the battle
against childhood boredom, with a bedroom arsenal that includes a
computer hooked to the Internet, a DVD player, two Game Boys, as well
as an Xbox and a GameCube.

But in recent weeks, the hum of that war room of machinery has quieted
because Joseph has acquired a new playtime obsession that would have
seemed quaint even in his parents' day: marbles.

He can thank Michael Cohill, a toy designer and enthusiast, whose
marble seminar Joseph attended at a youth fair a few weeks ago. Mr.
Cohill considers himself something of a pied piper of the game, having
taught it to thousands of children at schools, parks and scout
meetings. "They have the exact same experience kids did with marbles a
hundred years ago," said Mr. Cohill, 52.

Well, not exactly. Back then, children didn't need to take seminars to
learn to play a no-tech, simple game. In the era of micromanaged play
dates, overstuffed after-school schedules, cuts to recess and parents
terrified of injuries, lawsuits and predators, many traditional
childhood games have become lost arts, as antique as the concept of
idle time itself.

But lately, a number of educators like Mr. Cohill, as well as parents
and child-development specialists are trying to spur a revival of
traditional outdoor pastimes, including marbles, hopscotch, red rover
and kickball. They are attending play conferences, teaching courses on
how to play, and starting leagues for the kinds of activities that
didn't used to need leagues - just, say, a stick and a ball. They are
spurred by concerns that a decline in traditional play robs the
imagination and inhibits social interaction, by personal nostalgia,
and by a desire to create a new bridge to connect generations - a
bridge across both sides of the Nintendo gap.

Although their efforts have mostly yielded modest results, a hint that
they may be on to something comes with the success of an unlikely best
seller, "The Dangerous Book for Boys" (Collins), a sepia-toned
celebration of the lost arts of childhood, complete with information
on how to make a tree house, fold paper airplanes and skip stones.
Within days of its publication earlier this month, the book had soared
to No. 2 on Amazon's sales ranking, right behind the latest Harry
Potter installment. The book, by Conn Iggulden and Hal Iggulden, sells
for $24.95 in hardcover and may be appealing as much to fathers who
are nostalgic for a youth they never quite had as to children.

Conn Iggulden said in an e-mail message that he routinely received
correspondence from parents who yearn for a "return to simple
pleasures," which seems to stem from "potent forces, like the
realisation that keeping your kids locked up in the house on
PlayStations isn't actually that good for them; or the appalled
reaction of many parents to a health-and-safety culture that prevents
half the activities they took for granted as kids - and that they know
were important to their growth and confidence."

Nevertheless, such simple pleasures have not always been conspicuous
in the lives of children over the last two decades. "These kind of
games, including tag, have practically died out," said Joan Almon, who
is coordinator for the United States affiliate of the Alliance for
Childhood, a play advocacy group in College Park, Md.

Ms. Almon bemoaned the fact that she often drives through leafy
suburban streets on a sunny afternoon and sees no children playing,
adding, "We should be paying more attention to these classical
children's games, which are almost lost now."

Joseph, in fact, compared the experience of indulging in this
centuries-old activity to "being inside a video game."

Jill Gallo, Joseph's mother, is thrilled to see her son turn away from
violent video games and she thinks other parents should actively work
to spread the outdated pastime among children. "It won't come back
naturally," said Ms. Gallo, 40. "We have to introduce it. We have to
support it."

Rhonda Clements, a professor of education at Manhattanville College in
Purchase, N.Y., and a former president of the American Association for
the Child's Right to Play, said that this was already happening.

"There's a movement," she said of the effort to revive these games.
Her department has been sponsoring marble tournaments at local schools
and trying to encourage faculty members to teach games like Four
Square.

For many parents and educators, the burgeoning interest in old-
fashioned games is an outgrowth of a broader campaign, spearheaded by
a growing number of national and local advocacy and research
organizations, like the Alliance for Childhood, or the National
Institute for Play in Carmel Valley, Calif., to restore unstructured
play in children's lives. They cite numerous studies that claim such
play has many benefits, from helping children develop their
imaginations to helping them learn to get along with others.

One group, New York Voices of Childhood, formed in 2005 in New York
City, already counts more than 100 parents and educators as members.
They are currently trying to persuade teachers to make old-fashioned
play a priority within their curriculum, said Susan Ochshorn, a
project coordinator for the group, who argued that games like tag and
red light/green light are useful not only in alleviating stress, but
helping combat obesity.

Birgit Meade, an economist for the federal government who lives in
College Park, doesn't allow her children - Oliver, 10, and Anna, 7 -
to own a computer, and limits their DVD watching, she said. Instead,
she encourages them to collect caterpillars or play jump rope in the
front yard with friends.

Ms. Meade admits that her son runs the risk of looking like "kind of
an oddball" to his friends for bouncing on a pogo stick while his
friends blast away their afternoons playing video games.

Still, Oliver noted that he recently tallied 2,000 bounces in a single
session. "There's a lot more things to do outdoors," he said.

Perhaps the adults' serious approach to playtime is paying off.

Kathy J. Spangler, the director of national partnerships for the
National Recreation and Park Association in Ashburn, Va., which
represent some 6,000 local parks departments, said she had witnessed
an increase in children playing traditional games like four square,
scavenger hunts and hopscotch at parks throughout the country in the
last few years.

Larry Betz, of Benton, Ark., founder of the Little Rock Kickball
Association, said that his adult league was an instant hit when it
started in 2004. Meanwhile, most of their children found this old
playground staple as foreign as a mortgage application. "The irony of
adults playing a kids' game was lost on them," Mr. Betz said.

But after spending a few seasons on the sideline, watching their
parents have fun, many children are suddenly showing interest in the
game, Mr. Betz said. This year, he expects at least 150 children to
turn out for a new youth division.

CORY ABATE-SHEN, 41, of Warren, N.J., cited a tinge of nostalgia as
one reason she tried to teach the playmates of her twin 6-year-olds,
David and Philip, to leap through hopscotch courts, shimmy in hula
hoops, and chase each other around the lawn in games of tag. Most
kids, she said, need her direction, but once taught, "they can
immediately adapt and get into it."

"You're going to see a real revolution," she predicted, sounding a bit
like a Thomas Paine of retro play.

Nevertheless, some critics believe that children best fire their
imaginations and hone social skills when left alone to make their own
fun.

Dr. Geoffrey Godbey, a professor of recreation at Penn State
University, said the idea that parents can revive old-fashioned play
is contrary to the spirit of play. He blamed "boomers who want to do
it themselves again because they never grew up."

His advice? "Let the kids go."

But Sara Boettrich doesn't want to. The Rochester, N.Y., mother has
tried to exhume the old playground games of her own childhood, like
seven up - which involves bouncing a red rubber ball against a wall.
"I used to love that game!" Ms. Boettrich said. "My friends and I
would play that for weeks."

But when she tried to pass it along to her daughter Lydia, 8, and
Lydia's friends, she found that she was the one who was most spirited
in bounding around on her driveway. The children followed along only
as long as mom was there to supply the enthusiasm. Afterward, they
tended to return to their video games.

Ms. Boettrich admitted that she hadn't seen the kids playing seven up,
pickup sticks and jacks, and that she had since abandoned her attempts
to spark a love of them in her daughter. She added, "I think I had
more fun than she did."