The urge for childhood joys and whimsy has beckoned to me lately, specifically the desire to play on swings. Usually it’s at odd hours, after the sun has gone down, when I’m legally not allowed in the park. One such urge came Saturday night, as my husband and I walked home at 3am. The park we passed did not have swings, so we agreed to try on Sunday.
There is a park on our walk to the grocery store, so I decided that I was going to try to go there to get my swing on. As we approached the park I grew nervous. Unlike a 3am swing session, this would be in broad daylight, most likely with moms and dads catching their children sliding off of nearby slides.
I scanned the chains over the parked cars, trying to assess if the swings were being used. It appeared as though a swing or two was open, but when in plain view, there was no swing available. Smiling children were soaring through the sky with their smiling parents behind them. Happy little families. Damnit. I couldn’t kick a child off of a swing. Well, I mean, I guess I could, but I’m not that much of an asshole.
So with pouty faces, my husband and I walked on. While there was potential for a great risk there, I just couldn’t bring myself to go wait in line with six-year olds. Suddenly a fun and silly risk would become a sad determination to stick with a plan.
Being a grownup really sucks sometimes.