We most certainly can have nice things

“This is why we can’t have nice things…” reads the social media comment, summing up people’s response to the damage done intentionally to the million-plus dollar playground that recently opened in Dankwardt Park.

I knew better than to actively read the comments, but I couldn’t miss the top few. That’s what social media is all about. Anger equals engagement on the platform. Engagement equals attention. Attention is marketable. So I try not to pay the attention that the platform wants to sell advertisers. It is not easy.

But you can’t not see it all. And, as per the norm in these situations, some people equated the bad actions of a few to the norm for the many. And that ticks me off, maybe even more than the vandalism itself. Because I know this community is better than headlines and social media would have us believe. 

Here’s the other side of the equation. I don’t know how many people donated money to make that playground a reality. But it was a lot. I don’t know how many people brought their friends and families out to that playground in the short time it’s been open thus far, but it’s more than a lot. Probably more like a crap-ton. 

The math just doesn’t paint the picture that social media comments do. Thousands of people have been associated with that facility in some capacity. Many thousands of dollars have been donated from people in this community, some of whom have no interest in actually using the playground itself. They just knew what an asset it would be, and they wanted to play a part in making it possible. 

But that math isn’t viral. The damage caused by a small fraction of a percent of all the people that have visited that playground is what makes headlines. And probably it should. And yes, we should be mad about it. I certainly am.

But I’m not going to let the actions of a few, or the resultant social media response dull the image I hold for this community. A few years from now, hell, a few months from now, this little (well, maybe not so little) vandalism fiasco will be old news. Lost to the depths of social media’s short memory. Meanwhile, thousands of kids will have had the times of their lives playing on one of the greatest playgrounds in the region. And more than that, since the playground was built for inclusiveness, kids that wouldn’t have been able to join their peers on a more traditional playground will have had the opportunity to play side by side with friends on this one. 

That’s the story here. And those kinds of stories exist all over this community. People coming together to create the type of place where kids of all abilities can play together in the city’s biggest park. People making donations to make a $1.2 million playground possible. Sure, we could’ve spent half that and put up a really nice playset, leaving the disadvantaged minority to find something else to do. But we didn’t. 

No. We went all in. A million bucks and then some. And what did we buy with all that money? More than a really expensive playground. We bought experiences that hadn’t previously been possible for many kids. We bought smiles. A million-dollar smile on a kid that’s able to ride the spinning thing (what do they call those, anyway?) because it’s built right at ground level and there’s no barrier to entry. A million-dollar belly laugh from the kid riding a swing for the first time because this community built her one that she could wheel right into. And a million-dollar tear from the parents who, at least for the little bit of time they get to spend at the park, see their little one getting to share the same experiences that “normal” kids take for granted. 

That’s our story, Burlington. That’s the legacy we’re writing in tomorrow’s history books. 

And this story is written all over this community. I certainly see it in the parks I manage in the smiles of kids catching their first fish, or the grandparents catching their who-knows-how-many-that-one-was. But they can still get out there and catch fish because community support made possible the accessible walkways that get them to the water’s edge. 

Community support made the campground at Big Hollow Park possible where on weekends I see family groups four generations deep making memories that mean everything to the elders now and will mean everything to the kids soon enough. 

It’s okay to get mad when someone damages something we spent so much to build. Something we were so proud of. And it’s easy to take the mindset of “this is why we can’t have nice things” in these situations. But resilience isn’t built sitting in the armchair. And there are people out there who are counting on our resilience. Some of whom aren’t even born yet. 

Get mad all you want. But then get busy writing the rest of the story. Write a check to the Burlington Parks Department to pay for the repairs (you can donate online through their website). Write a post on social stating that a few vandals won’t keep us down. Or write a thank you note (or social post) thanking those who move this community forward. 

Write what you want. But whatever you do, don’t write us off. 

This piece is from my regular newspaper column that runs monthly in three local papers.