Over the last year I’ve been involved in re-designing a schoolyard in my West of Washington neighborhood in a space long-neglected and without a drop of investment since the early 1990s.

The first step in the process was to ask people what they wanted. The adults dreamed of an interactive play space that was ultra-safe, maybe with digital components built in to enhance play opportunities, and with ways for the space to be aligned with the school curriculum.

The kids wanted swings.

We adults wondered if they actually want some kind of enhanced swings. Nope. Just swings. A tripod with two chains and something to sit on. Simple.

I found that encouraging, having watched with a degree of frustration as simple pleasures develop into complicated checklists, face-to-face shopping devolves into groceries dropped off on the front porch, and a Big Mac now comes to your door in Dorchester by an underpaid driver from Malden at double the price. It’s a world I struggle with and wish it weren’t creeping into every crevice of life, including our own neighborhood.

I like meeting new people, I like talking to them, and I like hearing what they think. But nowadays most people, it seems, do not. They’ll do anything to avoid interacting with another person.

You can see this with some new neighbors moving in; you politely say ‘Hi’ to them as they pass by with their dogs, but they don’t respond – not because they’re rude, I’m thinking, but because they have blocked me and the rest of the world out with ear buds attuned to podcasts or music or telephone calls. It’s how most people want to live.

Yet, I remain optimistic in hearing elementary school kids hold fast to their preference for swings. No experience is as real as swinging. And who doesn’t remember swinging as high as possible and then jumping out to the ground at the very highest point? The risk, the thrill, the feeling in the stomach when letting go and flying through the air.

It’s all so very real, and real is where I prefer to land – even if no one else is jumping.

However, in this case, it seemed that wanting swings, and getting swings, were two different things. Apparently swings have fallen out of fashion. They are dangerous, an unnecessary liability. We were going to have to see if park planners would allow it, and possibly we will need a waiver.

All of which reminds me of a generation ago when music changed from analog recordings to digital recordings – going from records and tapes to CDs and mp3 files. The transition came with limits, because digital files couldn’t handle the edges – the lowest ends and the highest ends of the music were abruptly cut off. The music sounded clearer and was more mobile, for certain, but so much was lost with the edges gone. Now, an entire generation of people has never heard the fullness of recorded music – the low notes that trail off into a vast, audible silence and leave you holding your breath.

Those edges are where all the fun things reside. It’s where people meet face-to-face and share ideas, where we choose our own groceries in the store, and where we buy things from a store clerk who offers useful suggestions. The edges are also where children play without the heavy hand of adults. It’s where the swings are located.

Here’s to more young people playing on the edges.