I was robbed of my childhood. It was an inside job. I picked out grandma in the line-up. Her crime was not allowing me to play and be a kid. And, my grandfather was no help because she would scream at him if he attempted to interfere in her child-raising methods.

The job of children is to play. It is to run and feel the wind over their faces and blowing through their hair, to embrace being alive. They run with abandon and know the feeling of freedom in between school and church and dinners with strict manners. They grow stronger swinging from monkey bars and push their limits by swinging higher and higher on the swing set. Playing together as kids eventuates working together as adults. Knowing how to have fun eases the stress of working and daily life. Life is better with some fun.

Once a summer, my grandparents and I would spend the day at a park about an hour east of where we lived. On Saturday, grandma would fry chicken, make potato salad and buy Vernor's Ginger Ale. She then packed it all up for our picnic on the following day. All the while, she would be storming around, loudly complaining about having to do so much preparation for the picnic. She refused any help because she stated that we wouldn't do things right and appeared to prefer just to complain. I didn't really hear her, though, because just the thought of getting outside for the day provided me with a shield.

This park was right on Lake Huron, one of Michigan's Great Lakes, with a view of the Blue Water Bridge connecting the U.S. with Canada. Ocean-going transport ships from a variety of countries would go by on their way to the Port of Chicago.

At the other end of the park was a softball field and sometimes there was a game to watch. Of course, grandma wouldn't let me watch for very long because I might get a little tan on my face and begin to look healthy.

There was a large grassy area for running and playing but we know that didn't happen for me. I might skin my knee . . .

There was a walkway right along the water where people fished but I wasn't allowed down there because I might fall in.

There were swings and monkey bars and teeter-totters but I could only imagine the thrill of swinging through the air. But, I might hurt myself so that wasn't allowed, either.

There was an ice cream truck always parked in the middle of the park, with tasty treats but grandma said that we couldn't get any because I would probably dribble chocolate down the front of my shirt . . .I guess that would have been the 'end of the world'!

After spreading out our picnic food, Grandma would sit at the picnic table and pat the spot next to her. "You sit here", she would tell me. I think I would rather have been in hell . . .or was I already there? She told me that I must just sit there so I didn't hurt myself. I would roll my eyes and open my book as I sat there.

After swallowing my disappointment of not actually playing and having fun, I found some joy just being out in the fresh air, watching the sea gulls and counting cars crossing the bridge and waving at the ships going by. The beautiful blue waves of Lake Huron had a bit of a soothing affect. And, when my interest waned, I always had a book to rely on.

About 30 years later, I remember taking my three daughters to this same park. We watched the soft ball game until our faces had a fresh red glow. We ate ice cream cones and dribbled chocolate down the front of our shirts and giggled about it. We got wet in the fountain and teeter-tottered and bumped each other to the ground. We laughed as we attempted to swing higher than the others. Everyone ran and played until they were dirty and exhausted.

I finally had 'kid fun' at the age of 36, along with my children and nothing terrible happened. Imagine that!