All day long, while we shingled the roof, I watched from above as a backyard full of happy little kids flew back and forth, back and forth on the sturdy-looking swing set erected there.
And I envied them. It had been far too many years since I’d been on a swing.
A person should never get that old, I thought, that he cannot enjoy the things of youth. And yet, I’d let a decade slip by, maybe two, without going for a good, fast ride on a swing.
What could I possibly have been so busy doing all that time that caused me to walk by every swing set I saw without ever once climbing on one? Obviously, I’d been too preoccupied with other things and as the saying goes, if you’re too busy, you’re too busy.
When the work was finished in the late afternoon, we roofers gathered on the lawn for a bountiful supper. Wives, children and friends joined in as we sat on lawn chairs enjoying a drink and the end of a good day’s work.
Conversation was spirited and everyone was in a good mood. We could have made a good TV commercial for something.
During a lull in the talk, I got up and jauntily walked over to the swing set, admiring the workmanship that had gone into constructing such a solid apparatus. It was a far cry from the ropes and board hanging from an evergreen tree limb down by the shed on the farm where I grew up.
This set was built with pressure-treated four-inch-by-four-inch posts at each end, connected at the top by a solid stretch of durable pipe with heavy chain holding strong-looking blue plastic seats that fit the shape of each body that sat in them.
Swings have come a long way in the past 30 years, I thought.
I walked around to the centre swing and climbed aboard. The plastic seat enveloped itself around my hips and held me snugly.
What an improvement from the flat, hard board seats of years gone by which were worn so smooth over time they often threw their passengers flying.
A couple of strong pulls on the chains and I was off and soon I had an audience. With each completion of the ever-growing arc, I flew higher and felt stronger.
Whatever they say about never forgetting how to ride a bike goes double for a swing. I sensed the same old exhilaration of years before – the tickle in the stomach, the lightness in the head, the power in the arms and legs.
Oh, the joy of a simple pleasure rediscovered!
I’m not sure at what exact moment I realized the seat had separated from one of its chains. But I know it happened when I had reached the very highest point in the arc I had created.
Like a dying star shooting its way across the silent heavens, I flew into the damp evening air. I paused momentarily in my flight for one last, serene look at the sky and then fell to the ground.
Flat on my back.
As I lay in the wet grass breathing my last, reaction from the spectators was mixed. It ranged from mild laughter to loud laughter.
Among the comments I could hear from my position on the ground were several regarding the inevitability of an average swing giving way under the stress of trying to carry a person of my weight.
One sentiment I could tell immediately was missing from the range of feelings coming from the audience was sympathy.
Regaining some composure, I slinked into the house and applied a bandage to a wounded index finger. The swing was repaired moments after the accident and was soon back in use with no further incidents.
I spent the rest of the evening quietly in a lawnchair, away from the rest of the crowd. An untrained onlooker might have concluded I was sulking but, in fact, I was absorbed in thought.
As I sat by myself, I pondered how a man should act his age. And how it will be 10, maybe 20 years, before I get on a swing again.
Or maybe it will be never.
©1987 Jim Hagarty
