The cracking yellow plastic feels hot on my legs, but I don’t care. I pull the blue bars down the ropes in front of me and hold on to them tightly. They itch my hands where they are so frayed, but I barely notice. The summer sun hits my face. It is a beautiful day. A gentle breeze blows and strands of hair drift in front of my eyes where it has come loose from my braid. My mom sings the lyrics to an old Carpenters’ song and tells me that’s how she feels about me. In that moment, I don’t understand the complexity of the lyrics “Your love has put me on the top of the world,” so I don’t understand my worth. I just smile and urge her to push me higher.
When she does, my giggling excites interest in “my” dog, Junior, and for a beagle who is one rabbit away from the grave, he runs the perimeters of his pen anxiously to see what Mom is doing to me to cause me to squeal out in such a fashion. He barks and howls, trying to gain her attention, to no avail, as she continues to push me in the plastic Fisher Price swing.
We did this every evening after my parents came home from working. And every evening, I would ask where my daddy was and why he wouldn’t come push me. I never got a response.
When she does, my giggling excites interest in “my” dog, Junior, and for a beagle who is one rabbit away from the grave, he runs the perimeters of his pen anxiously to see what Mom is doing to me to cause me to squeal out in such a fashion. He barks and howls, trying to gain her attention, to no avail, as she continues to push me in the plastic Fisher Price swing.
We did this every evening after my parents came home from working. And every evening, I would ask where my daddy was and why he wouldn’t come push me. I never got a response.