Swings

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Porch swings, tire swings, playground swings...they all come to mind when I think about a swing. 

I remember the front porch swing on our house where I grew up.  It was a light colored wood, and over the years, the varnish started rubbing off.  The neighborhood kids would often gather there for consultation before a day of play.  We would plan strategies, the games we would play, the order of the games.   The girls next door always wanted to play make believe about movie stars and far away places.  It was all very female oriented, and I remember always scrunching up my face in disapproval.  Most of the time however, we all agreed upon things like croquet, softball, hide and seek, annie annie over, (is that how that's spelled?).  I remember when a new family moved in down the block and the kids chased us with sticks.  I couldn't understand that one.  It took a little while.  When we walked around the block, or would ride our bikes down that direction, out they would come, shouting and brandishing their weapons of choice like the little hooliguns they were.  Finally, one day, after more than a few times of going home with a red welt on my leg, I stopped, and grabbed one of their sticks.  Then I said:  "Why are you doing this?  You can come play games with us that are lots more fun than this, and they don't hurt anyone."  I was always playing the peacemaker.  It worked.  It turned out that they were just scared and lonely in the new neighborhood.  Of course the other neighbor kids were not happy about having such "meanies" join us, but it didn't take long before we were all playing kick ball on the side street.  Having all the kids on the block and some from the next block, made for an exciting game.  It wasn't my favorite game, as I was a clumsy kid and would kick at the ball, completely missing it.  So sometimes I just sat and watched, with my dog on a leash beside me.  I was happy and content on the sidelines.  I could cheer the others on, and I didn't feel left out. 

In the evenings, after it was dark, our porch swing was home base for wonderful games of hide and seek.  It was the most fun when our older cousins would visit and join in the games.  Ollie ollie in free (where do these phrases come from?)...the seeker would call out after searching the neighborhood, and finally tagging someone.  My favorite place to hide was under the back porch.  No one ever seemed to think about looking  there.  And sometimes right inside the cellar doors of the neighbor boy's house.

 In the fall time, we would sit on the porch swing, swinging back and forth, waiting for our turn to jump off the porch and into the tremendous pile of leaves we had raked up for that purpose.  The old elm tree was huge and left plenty of leaves for us to rake.  It wasn't so bad however, when we would dive into the fruits of our labor. 

It always puzzled me when my father took the porch swing down for the winter.  Why ever did he do that every year?