I have often been accused of being overly sentimental, and I won’t deny it, but it was a very sad day for me last week when the workers came and tore down an icon of my children’s childhood. We bought the huge Rainbow swing set when we moved into our Plainsboro home 15 years ago when Katie was 8, Molly was 5, and Will was two months old. The house was just built. We had no grass, no trees, and certainly no swing set on steroids.
I remember going to the store on Route 1, now like so many no longer there, and exploring the many options in front of us. Katie and Molly were like small monkeys running from one structure to another. Will, now the one most in perpetual motion, nestled in my arms. He was tiny, portable, and fairly quiet, something he will never be again. While the girls clambered about, swaying from the monkey bars, we experimentally put the boy in a baby swing and laughed as he gurgled with delight. Sold!
I remember the workers coming to erect the set in our backyard, and the girls’ excitement when it finally was ready for action. My mind leapt forward into the years ahead and imagined all the hours of happiness out there. I saw the kids enjoying the fort most of all; Will playing cops and robbers, Molly running tea parties, and Katie, in the distant future, getting into mischief with her high school friends.
All of that did happen and more. Will used to squeal with glee when I would dramatically sing, “dah dah dah dah dah dah, UNDERDOG!” and give him giant underducks that made him fly almost horizontally, but not to the point where he could fall out of the swing, though that did cross my mind on the more dramatic moves.
He and Molly loved to play “spritzy swing” as they turned the hose on full blast on each other in the hottest days of summer. They fed the hose through the twisting slide, turning it into the best waterslide outside of an actual waterpark.
They would lure the dogs up the plank into the fort so they would have villains or allies in their games of battle. I remember when Will finally conquered the monkey bars and his jubilance the first time he was able to cross their entire length completely. Once he did that, his confidence knew no bounds. There was the day that he decided to walk across the top of the monkey bars, and then the day he decided he would walk across the top of the entire swing set. The bad news is that he caused my heart to jump in a way that it was not intended. The good news is that if I ever worried that the child had a fear of heights, the notion was dispelled completely.
There was many a picnic in the shade of our dear, wooden friend. Even as the kids grew older, they still enjoyed sitting on the swings in the quiet cool of evening. I also liked to take a turn. There is nothing that turns back the hands of time more completely than sitting on a swing, closing your eyes, and feeling the wind in your face as you reach toward the sky.
I was waxing nostalgic with these thoughts as the set came apart piece by piece and I couldn’t bear to watch. That night, when the deed was done, and I was reminiscing with some melancholy, Will inserted a cool dash of reality, asking, “Mom, did I really spend that much time on it?” Again, the accusations of over-sentimentality do not come without any basis, but it’s true that one’s own perception of reality may be very different from others.
Nonetheless, I understand that there is a real basis for my sadness. It’s just that it doesn’t seem so long ago that I was imagining some of the best times ahead in my children’s lives, and already, all too quickly, those imaginings are now part of the past. Time is fleeting, children grow up, and swing sets are replaced. Bill already is cooking up a plan to replace the forlorn and empty space with turf and netting to turn that footprint into a lacrosse training field. The happy infant kicking his legs with joy has turned into a tall, strong teenager who can hurl rock-hard balls at almost 100 miles an hour. Yes, things certainly have changed.
I almost had to say goodbye to yet another icon of my children’s childhood this week. It’s something that’s meaningful to me, but the rest of my family unanimously can’t wait until it is gone. I’m talking about my 2005 Dodge Grand Caravan, and yes, I am still driving it contentedly, though my minivan days clearly should be way over.
It’s got almost 172,000 miles on it, and I figure it can go to at least 200,000. Talk about minivan memories: praying the boy would not fall asleep in his car seat as he was trucked around town with his sisters to dance and gymnastics; car picnics as we ate on the run going to those aforementioned activities, car pools, and songs belted out in the back seat.
One fuel pump, several gaskets, and $1,200 later, the minivan is back in action and ready to serve. I couldn’t save the swing set, but at least one childhood icon lives on and that makes me glad.
