The Importance of Play

There are very few things that can truly span every gap imaginable. From gender gaps to differences in race and nationality, and even as far as spanning species. When we play, all these different mindsets are given the chance to be ignored, to be overcome. There are so many instances where we see two species playing together, even if in other circumstances they’d be respective enemies. Though many of these are rare occurrences, some are as simple as everyday interactions between humans and pets. Playing with my dog is definitely not outside the norm.

Today in class our BRD209 tutor brought up the topic of play from the lectures. After just a few minutes, I looked around and noticed something amazing. Everyone was smiling. For a moment, despite all stressed of university, every person in that room was happy. Despite all the importance the world is recently placing on children and play, with its effects on learning and childhood health and development, one thing no one said was how it truly affects the adult. Sure, we learn life skills from it and are less likely to become psychopaths and sociopaths with a sound childhood, but how does playing as a kid directly affect us as adults?

Well, it did in that instant. Remembering our childhood, we were all happy. Perhaps try that next time you’re feeling down, or the black cloud is creeping up on you. Remind yourself of your favourite adventures as a child. Don’t worry about your present, but look back on the past and let yourself smile. Smiling is good for you, and just that simple act will strengthen you even a little. It’s working for me right now.

What I didn’t shout out in class was all the games we played as kids. The tutor asked what games we made up, and I think the only one I know was made up by me and my sister and highly unlikely to be repeated in other childhoods was Weetbix. If my sister reads this, she’ll know instantly what I’m talking about. Once upon a time, we had two old grey couches, and each couch had two large, thick, almost solid, grey pillows. We took the pillows from all the couches, and piled them upright onto one, the way we sometimes saw our parents have their weetbix (this was back when we ourselves could still only fit two weetbix in at most).

With the our four weetbix upright on the couch, the game begun. The trick was not to fall into the milk (aka off the couch), or be eaten by the giant (who was slowly eating the weetbix we clambered on). Slowly, the weetbix would fall one by one off the couch, and we’d struggle more and more to avoid the giant’s spoon and hungry mouth. We’d scream for help from each other, and a couple of times we came very close to being eaten. We’d play this until the giant ate all the weetbix (and then was still hungry and put some more in his bowl), or until mum came and told us to stop climbing all over the couch. Sometimes we had to sacrifice a weetbix early to the giant so that she’d have a cushion to sit on.

These games were endless, various stories played out and re-enacted over and over again by my sister and I. My friends also shared different games and stories. Running around school with skipping ropes, one person holding both ends while the other was stuck in their loop. In our hands the worn white ropes became reins, and we rode across the countryside, galloping through the playground on various missions, guided by our riders with the reins in their hands. Learning to gallop fast was probably the reason I could never skip as a child.

I’m not sure what happened to those games. Eventually, they fell away to just stories. I’d almost forgotten them. Only the classics remained as memories, but never played. Lava, which my sister and I made up but I’m sure is a common childhood game. We’d annoy mum over and over by rushing to collect every toy and other item imaginable, and rushing it onto my sister’s bed before the lava came. Then when the lava got to high, we’d throw everything up a level to the top bunk. As the lava finally receded, we’d replace everything (though most of it went on the floor and probably not back in its rightful place), only to scramble everywhere to save it once more as the lava returned. The careful floating atop the boiling red waves to retrieve lost teddies before they were lost forever was a very real struggle to us once.

Many of these games taught us life skills. Playing mermaids in my friend’s pool taught me to swim way better than lessons every did. Playing chasey and running from imaginary foes was a much more incentive way to exercise and learn the limitations of my body than what I do today. Acting as teachers actually allowed us to practice skills learnt in class, and furthered our understanding of them by forcing us to try and teach them to each other. Running wild through the bush with my best friend taught me many skills most kids will now lack due to urban development. Climbing trees, learning which plants are prickly, what grass is safest to walk on, what leaves are most soothing on cuts and which ones taste nice (apparently eucalyptus leaves are poisonous to children, but I’m still here). I remember sucking on the tiny yellow flowers that grow on some native bushes (various ones, one bush is spiky and a pain, while another is more of a tree). I learnt natural remedies for things, like putting honey on cuts, or the juice inside an aloe vera plant. Simple things I don’t think about, like how to run on hot sand or where is best to drink from a river.

Where did all my adventures go?

Since becoming an adult, I’ve slowly let go of the imagination I once had as a child. I noticed it as I grew up, but in recent years it reached a point where I didn’t notice the absence any more. Until recently. I was babysitting a beautiful little girl one day when she dragged me down into the yard, picked up a stick that I was about to confiscate off her, scared of splinters, and suddenly she yelled “Look, Storm, dolphins!” whilst peering into the bushes.

At first I wasn’t sure what to do, and continued to try and get the stick off her (succeeded eventually), and I lead her through the bush, exploring, after telling her that the dolphins wanted to sleep in peace. It wasn’t until later that afternoon when we sat down to watch Charlie and Lola, a children’s show, where there were crocodiles hiding in the cracks of the pavement, and when you stepped on a crack they came out to eat you. I looked down at the rug spread across my grandma’s floor, with its coloured patterns, and remembered playing on it as a kid. We’d jumped from pattern to pattern avoiding the poison between certain colours.

Staring at that rug, I suddenly remembered the adventures of the imagination. Soon the little girl and I were sprinting from the couch, up the huge step through the dining room, down the hall and launching onto her huge bed, all before the crocodiles could get us. She couldn’t make it onto her bed, so I’d have to exaggerate my struggle to lift her, little feet dangling near the crocodile’s jaws. When the crocodiles settled down, she’d urge me on again, and we’d race back to the couch, this time with her leaping up first and me falling to the familiar rug, yelling “Quick, quick, save me!” as I reached out for help. She’d grab my hand and with all the might of a three-year-old pull me to safety on the couch. Then I’d have a very short break before it all began again.

She went home that night ranting about crocodiles in the pavement, and I was alive with the memories of playing as a kid. I’m incredibly lucky, having little ones around me that allow me to relive the ability to play and imagine. Not every adult out there gets a chance, though I wish they did. The pure joy of playing is something so natural, it’s impossible to taint those moments with the stresses of adult hood. As an adult, I still have my imagination. I can still write novels and think up stories to put on paper. But it’s not the same as imagining dolphins in bushes and crocodiles at your feet.

I think we need to bridge the gap between childhood and adulthood more often, bringing the play back into our adult lives. Remembering our times playing as kids is the first stepping stone to bringing that joy back into our adult lives.