A Little Bit Higher

                                                 

When I was a little girl I loved to swing.

Grabbing the rusty metal chains.  Hopping up into the cracked plastic seat.  Tip-toeing my way back, back and then kicking out my legs to achieve full flight.  All of my body working to get higher and higher and higher...

A few years ago my son and I stopped at a neighborhood park.  The sky was powder blue and we had the whole afternoon to ourselves.  We had been many times before, and although I had placed him on the swing-set quite often to push him and listen to his giddy giggles, I had not tried to join him in flight.  There was no reason, really.  I just hadn't thought to do it.
   
That day he was thrilled by the presence of another little boy and happily played in the sand with Hot Wheels and his new best friend.  Left alone, I eased into a black u-shaped seat and grabbed hold of the familiar chains.  They were cool, even in the warm sun.  They felt good in my hands. 
   
Back, back, back I stepped and then fell forward to begin my climb, just like I used to.  But years had gone by since my last trip on a swing.  I guess I was too busy being a grown-up to let go like that, so I was not prepared for the dizzying feeling I felt as I swooped back and forth in my seat.  My belly was doing flop-flips and my head was swimming. Then the nausea set in and my eyes couldn't focus on my son. Vertigo?!?  Scared, I dragged the soles of my shoes into the dusty ground to slow my ascent, and then to stop it altogether.  The movement was just too much.
   
What had happened to me?  Why could I not swing like I used to?  Was I too old to swing?  I was so worried that maybe my youth had slipped away from me without my even noticing.  If I couldn't swing, what else couldn't I do?  There were so many things that I took for granted over the years.  My failed attempt at this simple feat shook me. 
   
For the next five years I slowly grew used to the possibility that I may never be able to do some of the things I once found pleasure in.  My fear of losing my youth began fading into acceptance. I was just getting older.  This is natural.  This must be what everyone feels.
   
And so my life continued, my little boy grew and a daughter was added to our lives...

This spring we found a nice little park, like we do every year.  My son, my daughter and I.  Unlike the past few years, though, the swing-set here seemed to call to me, the seat welcoming.  So I sat.
   
I began swaying back and forth, not letting my feet leave the tiny pool of pebbles beneath me.  Slowly my confidence grew and I put a little more energy into my rocking, letting gravity take over as I released my grip on the ground.  Swirling nausea overcame me once more, but this time I didn't drag my feet.  I kept on  pushing through the wooziness.  Pushing up higher.  I can do this!, I thought, closing my eyes to block out my unfocused vision.  I didn't swing too high that day, but I didn't give in to my fear, either.  It was a modest compromise; a small victory for a stay at home mom.
   
With every visit to the park this year I have tackled that swing-set.  I have been determined to recapture this small relic of my youth, so I have sat and kicked and reached, achieving a little more height each time.  The dizziness has slowly been displaced by the joy I once felt as a young girl.
   
Yesterday, after picking up my first grade son from school, I guided our car through the narrow, tree-lined streets to the playground.  As my children sprinted from me to claim their fun, I headed toward mine.  After a few minutes, my son noticed me on the swings and came running.  He plopped into the seat next to me, grinning.  I turned to him and said, "Bet I can go higher!"  He laughed at the thought of us racing in the air and began pumping his blue-jeaned legs to begin.
   
What a delight to be in the sun in the park with my kids and not feel the fear of growing older.  Only smiles and laughter and flight.  My son and I each reaching a little bit higher.