There Was a Time

A sign of the times.

There was a time when you could go to the local park or playground and only have to worry about when you had to leave so your mom wouldn't use your freedom as leverage to enforce your punctuality.
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Sure, there may have been other things to worry about, like will certain people be there: the school bully, or the girl you really like, but are deathly afraid of asking out. But it never occurred to you someone, or maybe even some thing could be there. A kind of spider you couldn't see until you were entangled in their nefarious web.
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There was a time when you hadn't heard of a sex offender, or even knew what it was. They may have existed, but not with the numbers we have today. The number, apparently is so big, we have to use tax money to not only defend them in the judicial system, but we have to remind them (and others) where the electric fence is by making large signs and displaying them in prominent locations like here, at Country Park in Greensboro, NC.
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I was riding my bike through the lengthy trails one day recently, and in a clearing came upon this playground. The first thing I saw was this cube of bricks that housed the restrooms. It made me shudder to think that something sordid could have happened inside those dirty rooms--especially seeing this big sign posted on the building. (I used to ride my bike down to the local park when I was in grade school. Thankfully I still can, and still do.)

Sadly, an empty playground.

You ARE cordially invited to enjoy the grounds. 

 Note the sign on the sign: "If a problem is observed..." We don't really know which kind of problem they mean. If you see a broken swing, then call. If you see Aqualung, don't call the number, beat his ass. Just watch out for snot.

Anyway, I turned the corner and saw this park bench. (You know it, "Eyeing little girls with bad intent.") Well that song didn't start playing on my internal jukebox like it is now, I just hoped Mr. lung hadn't been here, and little Susie simply forgot her doll. I mean, you see this bench and you have to wonder. Did anyone call that number? As I stood there with these thoughts, I saw that there was no one around. And while this playground is in a very large tract of land, it's also next to tennis courts, the main road, and a parking lot.

I want to believe that nothing sordid and clandestine happened here. Nevertheless, my opinion was forged when I saw that sex offender sign. 

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I will still bring my bike to this park, in the same manner I took it to Lynnhurst Park in South Minneapolis when I was too young to know there really were boogie men. As it goes, we can't let the ten percent spoil our fun. I only hope it is just ten percent.

Aqualung's viewpoint