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The boy & the swing

My favourite moment today was without any cameras or anything to record it, because my boy had dragged me out of the house without warning, down the road, across the road to the park, a route he knows by heart.

For some reason, he wanted to try the swing. I hesitated. He usually prefers the slide; when we put him on the swing he squirms and wants to come down within ten seconds.

“Not this one,” he said, pointing to the bucket swing. He wanted to try the big kids swing. “Mommy help.”

“Hold tight,” I told him, making sure his hands were wrapped around the iron chains.
A little push, and off he went! A smile broke over his face as the sensation of flight hit him. He started singing. I joined in. He laughed. I pushed him higher. He squealed with delight.

We paused the swing as he was leaning too much to one side. “Some more! Some more!” he said as I adjusted his position.

And he was off again, enjoying his first taste of what it must feel like to fly, towards the trees, to come so close to the sun and the sky. Singing and laughing, laughing and then laughing some more.

Afterwards the rain fell, hard and heavy. Watching the downpour from my window, I couldn’t help feeling a tinge of melancholy, thinking about the baby that once feared the swing, and the boy I saw today, soaring ever higher towards the sky.

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