UPDATE #1: My break-out on my forehead has drastically improved! No glasses today, and the secret is band-aids and neosporin overnight.
UPDATE #2: I am going out for a margarita after work. We shall see if the “NO GETTING DRUNK” rule can be applied.
One evening, at Hugh Macrae Park in Wilmington North Carolina, Jenny and I went for a walk. We did this a lot. Sometimes we’d talk so much that we got winded. Sometimes Jenny would lose her sunglasses to the turtles in the pond. Sometimes we spat sunflower seeds and watched the Little Leaguers practice. But almost always, we made sure to take a swing on the swing set before we went home.
That evening, we got SO mad that there were already kids swinging, kids that wouldn’t give up their swings. But we understood. Instead, we talked about how Jenny wanted to lick the moon, and staked out the swing set until we realized that we were probably being labeled sexual offenders. But it wasn’t the kids we were eying up. It was the swings.
Jenny also lived near a park with a swing set, and we walked there fairly often, too.
I believe we would have walked ANYWHERE just to swing. And last night, I went on a walk while I talked to Jenny on the phone. And as I walked, I came across a park with an entire open swing set…and I swung. Just saying the words “swing set”–I love the way it sounds. I used to love swinging, and then (like any teenager), I got too cool to do it. It wasn’t until I lived in North Carolina that I started swinging again.
I have to say that I attribute part of this (most of this) to Jenny, who is an eternal kid, and who never gave up on the fun things we “grow out of.” And thank God for that. Part of it is because it truly feels good to fly through the air, to pump your legs, to stick that landing, or to eat mulch. It reminds you what it is to be a kid.
So go be a kid once in awhile. Don’t worry that sometimes your ass is too big for the swing. And don’t worry–you won’t turn into Nickelodeon’s Inside-Out Boy.