The Swing

He spoke of the past as if it had just happened and as he spoke, we soaked in his words like water to a shriveling plant. It was as if our father, though he was not that old, was telling us of OUR past, not his. His face lit up as he talked of the “old days” and “old ways”. He brought his friends to give credence and to bear witness to his stories. He welcomed us to his home as if we had known each other forever, even though it had only been a few days. And there we met the swing. There had been mention of it by him and his friends, but seeing it gave it life. It had the wear of the ages on its boards and the paint was worn off from years of use. Then came the time to give us the demonstration. He showed it as a proud father shows how his children plays an instrument, sings or shoots a gun…whatever impresses upon fathers to brag. As he coaxed the swing into movement the years fell off of him with every arc through the air. Quickly he was a child again. His face glowed with excitement of the memories of the past. He showed how he could jump out and then back in again without even causing it to stop. We asked him his age and I am still not sure we were told the truth by anyone, but I do know that for just a moment, thanks to an old swing, he was 10 again. I can imagine as he spends hours in that swing alone he can feel the presence of his family there as they were when he was young. Maybe we have gotten to far from the simple things of life. There is something to say about swings, porches and good friends. It is what keeps us young and gives us therapy. So go back and find that part of your childhood that remains inside you. Let it breath and bring back the joys we once had.