A broad, very thick board, a hole in each end, and a rope 1" thick. A couple of good knots.
While I don't have a picture of the swing itself, I have a picture of her on that day, loving the swing for the first time of what would become thousands.
Since that seminal day, most of our grandchildren have enjoyed that swing. Even today, the children of Son #2, who are teenagers, head to the backyard soon after arriving at Nana's house, to enjoy the swing.
* Three of our grandchildren have not yet visited Nana's house. Two were born internationally and one was born just before the family left for Asia. So we have 3 grandchildren of the 12 who have not (yet) enjoyed the swing.
Even hubby and I have swung on it on occasion.
There's something about swinging that takes your cares away. It's almost like I imagine flying would be. There's no fear, the breeze in your face, the rhythm similar to rocking, which of course reminds us of being in the womb. It's a carefree and magical experience.
Over the years the swing has aged. The once-yellow wood is now grayed. Raised lines of grain tell of the years of weather. The ropes, which used to be white, have turned gray as well. Yet a good tug on the swing seemed to show it's still stable for another few good go's.
Flash forward 18 years and we have yet another generation enjoying the swing.
A month or so ago sweet hubby balanced our granddaughter's 2-almost-3 year old on the swing and gave him a push.
He was addicted.
He's just a little unsteady on it. We have to center his bottom in the exact center of the board. Over time he has learned to balance on it, not leaning too far forward nor too far back, and he holds tightly with his hands.
But, oh, the swing.
He loves the breeze on his face. The features on his face actually soften and he becomes more... at peace.... which is a weird thing to say about a toddler, I know.
He visits Nana's house quite a lot, 3x a week or more, but he never tires of the swing.
Yesterday after nap it's all he wanted to do. So we beckoned the dog to go with us and out we went.
I centered him and pushed. and pushed. and pushed.
We sang songs. Then we were quiet, the only sounds the creak and groan of the rope as it bore his little weight back and forth, back and forth.
After about 10 minutes I noticed the seat shift a bit to the left. I picked him up off the swing to see what was going on, and 20 feet or more of rope came spiraling down from the branch.
The swing had died.
I am immensely thankful it didn't happen when he was in the arc of a good go. He would have been hurt.
He was crestfallen.
I promised him Papaw would fix it.
He stood in the yard, the end of the rope in his hand -- the end that belongs on the branch high above our heads.
"I fix it," he proclaimed. He wanted to swing so badly. Now.
He looked high up at the branch. Back down to the rope in his hand.
"I need to fly."
He tried to lift his feet off the ground. He jumped a few times.
He looked at me very seriously. "I need to fly."
He moved his other hand through the air to demonstrate flying in case I had not understood.
But I understood.
I picked him up and said, "Does this help?"
"No," he said.
Together we tried to fly.
Finally I put him down and headed for the house, once again promising Papaw will fix it.
The vision of him, small him, standing in the yard with the lank end of the rope in his hand, trying to fly, will stay with me for a very long time.
It was the first time he discovered his inability to achieve something he really, really wanted, and it broke my heart. His crystalline faith that he could fly, that he could fix the swing, was so pure. And so fragile.
Of course it will happen to him many, many times in the future, but rarely do we have the awful opportunity to observe defeat happening in such a tangible way.
His world got a little smaller yesterday.
-----
Last night we got an urgent call from a family member just before midnight. Violence had occurred in the home. We were needed -- immediately -- to help in practical ways.
We leapt from bed and left our home to lend a hand.
The cycle of violence is never pretty, and we returned home shortly before 3am, exhausted and shaken from the experience.
This morning after sleeping fitfully for a few hours, I am still exhausted and now pretty angry that the episode happened at all. There's no need for it. Some pretty awful behavior -- and injuries -- resulted from poor decisions and it never had to happen.
This morning I am struggling with what to do with this anger in a positive way. I cannot fix the parties involved yet I see the damage for now and the harm in the future if it doesn't stop.
I just need to fly.
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