Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Playground

At the end of our private lane there was/is a playground.

My cousins and I would make the excruciatingly long hot walk down the sandy dusty road in order to fly on the swings.  Really the walk wasn't too bad, but 100 yards is a mile when you're only 4 feet tall.  
The swings were the big attraction. 
We would pump our legs back and fourth soaring higher and higher. 
I used to try to go high enough to go up and over the frame. 
I never did though.
Eventually we would dare each other to jump off the swing while in motion. 
The higher you were when you leaped, the cooler you were. 
It always took a few counts to three before I could muster enough nerve to let go and launch myself in the air.  I always relished those first seconds when I was locked in mid-air as if in flight.  But it was inevitable that the ground would eventually rise to meet you.  If you were lucky you landed on your feet and had enough give in the knees to keep your ankles from stinging. 
Sometimes we went and played on the bouncy animal things and pretended to be cowboys and Indians.  Sometimes we climbed. 
Sometimes we rode the merry-go-round and tried to make each other barf. 
Whatever we did, it was always an adventure.

And while the equipment is newer, the fun and adventure is the same.  
Climbing, swinging and a little basketball.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for the memory jog .. I remember pumping hard to get as high as I could and jumping off and the skinned knees that often were the badge of a daring jump but lousy landing