I loved to swing when I was a kid. I loved to swing when I was a teenager. As a grown woman if the opportunity should arise, I will sit down and swing as high as I dare. I might even push the limits, swing to the highest point and lean all the way back as my flat body swoops back down towards earth, my hair skims the dirt and my feet climb towards the sky touching the clouds.
Swinging is what I imagine flying must feel like. That feeling where my stomach drops and floats back up, it sends shivers through my entire body. The rise and sink of my feet as I pump the swing higher and higher, I let out a little shriek as my butt lifts off the seat. The squeal as I jump from my swing and crash into the green grass.
One thing has changed over the years. As a kid swinging meant singing. In my youthful ears, I had the greatest voice and it soared right there with me on the swing. These days I keep the singing to the shower or solo car trips to curbside.
My all-time favorite song to sing had been Bad Bad Leroy Brown, by Jim Croce. The lyrics were easy to remember and it contained a forbidden “D” word.
My six-year-old self would start swinging and start singing. My two sisters would be near-by waiting on baited breath.
“You better not say the “D” word.” My sister Debbie would say with a hint of I-dare-you in her voice.
“Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown.”
“If you say it, I’m telling mom.”
“Baddest Man.”
“I mean it, I’ll tell”
“In the whole damn town.”
“Mom, Chris just said the “D” word.” She would run in the house and return a minute later.
“Mom said you better not say it again or she is going to spank you.”
My feet climbed higher and the waves rolled through my stomach. I was flying and fearless.
“Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. Baddest Man,”
“Awe, I’m telling mom if you say it.”
“In the whole damn town.”
Off she took into the house and came right back out followed by my mother.
“Christina Marie, get your ass in this house.”
It was so worth the spanking. I felt justified, after all it was only a song. It wasn’t like saying the “SH” word or “D” word which included God. Fearless, I sat down on the swing, started pumping my feet and singing as if nothing had happened.
“I mean it, I’ll tell mom.”
Meanwhile my little sister Tricia sat silently on top of the slide. Her eyes pleaded for me to stop.
“Baddest man in the whole damn town.” I owned it.
Summoned back to the house for round two, I didn’t waste any time. The morning had been young and I had plenty of swinging and singing to do. I always pushed the limits.
Chris Writes 