– Time For A Tiara: Column by Ginna Young – - There were a lot of things we shouldn’t have done

– Time For A Tiara: Column by Ginna Young –

When I was 10 or 11, they still had the “big swings” at Brunet Island State Park, that would hold adults, as well as kids. They also had that self-propelled merry-goround that we could get going so fast, you thought you were going to fly off or throw up, or both.

Dad loved to have me and/or the grandkids, or the neighbor boy my age, sit on it, then, and I can see him now, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, run as fast as he could, to get the merry-go-round twirling, laughing as we screamed. Good times.

There was also a very tall slide there, one of the metal ones that either flash-froze your skin or burnt it off, depending on whether the sun was shining or not. Even Dad, cigarette drooping out of the corner of his mouth, would climb up there and slid down, laughing uproariously as he did so.

I wasn’t quite as brave, because that thing wobbled and I was always sure it would tip over, just as I got to the top. It’s puzzling, how Dad was scared to death of heights and couldn’t even watch a movie about someone standing on a mountain without passing out, but would nimbly climb up that rickety, high thing and never even tremble.

But, back to the swings. Man, that was my favorite thing to do after a long day’s work. We’d hop in the truck and take a little drive around the park, stopping for me to go swing. And only the one on the right side would do for me, the others just weren’t as comfortable and felt slick when I sat on them; the right had some texture to the seat and the chains were more comfortable to hold onto.

Dad would almost always get out with me and sometimes swing, cigarette dangling out of his mouth, or just sit on the nearby picnic bench, while Mom stayed in the car and listened to Michael Jackson on the radio, or read the book she brought along.

It was special, because we got to talk over the day, talk about what we had planned for the future and what we’d do if we had unlimited money. Things like that.

I would get the swing going as high as I could and execute fancy twists, turns and landings, jumping out from different heights. It’s a wonder I didn’t end up tearing my knee sooner than I did in life.

Occasionally, I’d ask Dad to do an “underdog,” which was when he’d take hold of the bottom of the swing seat, pull me back as far as he could, run under me while still holding the swing, then let go, which propelled me to even greater heights and rapid swinging.

It would actually take my breath away. Mom always worried that I’d end up killing myself. I should have listened to her.

One time, my sister’s family was here for a visit. It was wintertime and because they were still so young, with lots of energy, we loaded up and took the nieces to the park to play. My brother-in-law stayed in the car to talk with Mom and the rest of us trooped over to the swingset.

Under-dog! Under-dog! Under-dog! Our chants brought a big grin from Dad and he made sure, with cigarette hanging out of his mouth, to give it extra oomph, when he pushed us, getting tickled at the delighted screams which ensued.

If you’re paying attention, Dad always had a cigarette in his mouth, which, in part, led to his early passing. That was only one of many things we really shouldn’t have done. Underdogs were another.

Since we had my two younger nieces with us, I was relegated to the farthest swing on the set, which I despised, but I pressed on, swinging until it was my turn for what turned out to be my last underdog.

“Ready?” Dad asked. “Ready!” I answered. I was not ready. Just as Dad let go of the swing, my gloved hands slipped off the chains I was gripping, as did my bottom off the seat and I went flying. I shot off, spread eagle, straight out, far above the swing set, airborne.

My breath left me and I couldn’t make a sound, especially when I fell back down to the hard-packed snowy earth below, in front of the swingset. I hit with a sickening splat and the wind was knocked out of me.

I tried to say, I’m alright, but I couldn’t, while everyone raced over to me. I remember laying there, thinking, “Shoot, now I’ve gotten my clothes wet, Mom’s gonna be so ticked,” looking up at their faces above me, peering down.

My nieces were hanging onto each other, crying, thinking I was dead, no doubt. My sister was paler than a bed sheet, probably thinking if I was dead, she’d be next, because Mom would kill her for letting something happen to me.

I’ve never seen Dad look so scared and even as incapacitated as I was, I could hear the car door open and figured I really was about to die, that Mom was coming to kill me for getting hurt. All I could think, was, she was right, I never should have done the underdogs.

Somehow, I managed to scramble to a sitting position, waving at the car to let them know I was OK. Everyone drew a breath of relief and my voice returned, while I assured them I hadn’t broken anything.

Although I kept swinging on that set until they dismantled it, I never tried another underdog again. However, the effects of that disastrous playtime live on. Since then, my back has hurt almost constantly, sometimes, so bad, I can hardly move.

I guess I did hurt myself after all, I just didn’t know it at the time. Until just recently, I didn’t know how many times I say, “Oh, my back!” That was brought to my attention, when my coworker informed me her six-year-old son, my little pal, Warren, now randomly says, “Oh, my back!”

Oops. I guess it’s good we got a little humor out of the situation, but it wasn’t the only time.

When I sat up, after flying out of the swing and said I was unharmed, the swing, that was still in motion of its own accord, came from behind and smacked me on the head, and I went down again. Everyone and particularly Dad, laughed themselves sick at the comedic timing of the swing. Funny. Real funny.

I had a terrific headache that night, but received no sympathy from either parent. Mom said maybe the swing knocked some sense in my head and Dad said he didn’t know I had any brains to knock out.

If anyone wonders why I am the way I am, I think this scenario leaves do doubt as to that.