I Was A Swinger!

 

When I was growing up, I loved swings. Who didn’t? Kids and swings just naturally go together. Like Clearasil and pimples. For me, it began on the playground, where I would swing so high that the legs on the frame would pull out of the ground.  That gave me a kiddie rush that was almost equal to eating a half dozen Pixy Stix. 

Homemade swings were even better. I won’t say that you needed a swing like this to truly call yourself a southerner; but for so many of us who grew up in the South, a homemade swing was a big part of our childhood. 

We had one. My Dad found an old tire, and after cutting a hole out of the bottom for drainage, he married it up with a length of  heavy rope. After looping it over a limb on a perfectly located hickory tree, he tied the ends securely. Soon my sister and I were gliding high - up and back, up and back.  So simple. So perfect. With a little effort I could almost touch my feet to the eve of our house. 

And what a bonus it was if there was a swing in the woods where you played. Back then, the woods were magnets for most 12 year olds. Not so much today. Nowadays, all those trees would affect the kid’s phone service. That’s another topic for another time. My friend Steve had a swing in the woods near his house. It was well worth the 15 minute bike ride to go visit him because that meant we were headed to The Swing.  

If there was a Heisman Trophy for homemade swings, this one would’ve earned a trip to New York City.  To get there, you walked thru a path, flanked by pine, oak, sweet gum, and briars, until you came to a clearing. Then it stood before you in all it’s glory.  A large pine tree, at least sixty feet tall, grew out of a steep incline, and someone who didn’t have a fear of heights attached a cable to one of it’s highest limbs. A bicycle tire rim bolted to the opposite end of the cable served as a handle. It was huge, scary, and magnificent. 

Once you gathered your courage, you ran until your feet left the ground, and hung on for dear life as the swing catapulted you in a  semicircle around the tree.  The centrifugal force made you feel like the stone in David’s slingshot as you flew over a sea of privet hedge at the bottom of the cliff. There wasn’t enough Pixy Stix in the world to give you this kind of high. 

Kids from all over knew about The Swing, making it a popular gathering spot. But not everyone who visited The Swing tried it. That’s because swings in the woods were usually sketchier than the ones that dad built in the back yard. And this swing certainly had an element of danger. Because of the angle of the tree and the slope, you could easily attain heights of 20 feet on your ride - over 30 if you took off fast enough.   And you had to deal with centrifugal force when sticking the landing. As a result, some boys wouldn’t take the risk. Being called a chicken was a small price to pay to avoid broken bones or a trip to the hospital.  

I couldn’t resist the lure of flying thru the air, so I used The Swing regularly. But, I always began my takeoff  below the highest starting point.  As a result, I wasn’t as high as I could be - but, 20 feet was just fine for me, thank you very much. 

Steve was another story. He always went to the highest point to get the most starting speed. As a result, he went higher and faster than anyone else.  In addition, he added twists and turns that made it look like a gymnastic routine. I remember watching in disbelief.  Steve was sailing thru the air looking like he’s in the Olympics, while I was happy if I landed without getting strawberries on my knees and elbows. 

I recently reached out to Steve and asked him if he remembered The Swing. After all, it was over a half century ago.  He did. In fact a few years ago he went back to it’s original location, and to his disappointment, found an apartment complex where it once stood. 

I knew that already. Like Steve, I had also gone back to find The Swing. I may not have become a gymnast like Steve did, but it was undoubtedly a memorable part of both of our childhoods. 

Along with Pixy Stix. 

Joe Hobby is a comedian from  Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. 

Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com/?m=1. Also, follow him on Facebook at: Joe Hobby Comedian- Writer