Why must our children pay to just play?

As smoke oozes out of a blazing window on the third floor, a team of tiny firefighters struggles to douse the blaze with their hoses. My 6-year-old Sheriff-son, however, grins from ear to ear as he aims the stream at the front door.

"Good job!" exclaims a woman, barely 20, who is dressed in an orange suit, her hair tumbling out of an oversized helmet. The smoke and fire disappear as soon as the water ceases. No glass is broken, no damage done. But it's not the end of the game.

The team boards a miniature fire truck, which circles the miniature town. Then, the proud team receives hearty hurrahs from their captain, who issues them a piece of paper printed with "10 e-bucks".

Since it opened in February, the children's recreation center near the Honglingjin Park in eastern Beijing has attracted hordes of families every day. Unlike other facilities, where children simply swim in a sea of balls or crawl through a maze, this center offers children the chance to try different careers in "real life" settings. It's so successful that similar facilities have been springing up all over the country.

Well, the setting might look real, but I couldn't help but feel an invisible hand reaching for my wallet during the five hours we spent there on a Sunday.

My son headed straight for the army camp, paying no heed to the staff members dancing and singing outside the post office, gas station, embassy, bank and other such locales.

Two young "officers" roped in eight excited boys and shut the door to disappointed parents. After putting on their uniforms, the new recruits learned from a young woman (who looked more like a saleswoman) how to fold the miniature quilts.

Brandishing a black machine gun, my son stood in the squad with his head held high even though his big hat kept tilting to one side.

Like many other games in the center, my son got "10 e-bucks" for the performance.

But easy come, easy go. Within 10 minutes, the "money" was handed over to a young lady outside a chocolate shop.

Gastronomy obviously beats all the other trades for these young career-seekers.

A dozen children waited patiently outside the Pizza Hut, yogurt store and hotdog house as their parents fetched drinks and snacks that cost several times the usual prices.

After waiting for 40 minutes, my son finally entered the dream house. Three staff members with chefs' hats showed them how to squeeze brown chocolate syrup into a mould, which was put into the fridge to solidify into chocolates.

In the following 20 minutes, the children were shown pictures of various kinds of chocolate. I almost broke in to put an end to this blatant brainwashing, as my son's dental bills are already through the roof.

Fortunately, my boy was content with the coin-sized sweet he'd made and didn't howl for the ridiculously expensive chocolates on display, like other children.

After the fireman episode, we hurried to get a "passport", which was necessary if my son wanted to become a pilot. Guess what? The small faux document cost 20 real yuan ($3)!

We had a discussion and then went to the submarine. But it was closed, and its neighboring military camp in the jungle only accepted taller children.

After exploring a creepy cave, we found most facilities were ready to close at about 4:30 pm, so we hurriedly entered an obscure teahouse.

It turned out a pleasant surprise. The two women would smile prettier with less powder on their cheeks, but they did teach the children good manners.

My son offered me the cup with both hands. The tea was tepid, but my heart was warmed.

While my son got a taste of a few careers, the experience taught me more.

I must be constantly alert to guard my son's innocent childhood, as our world becomes increasingly commercialized.