August 27, 2015
By Cheryl Katz
“Higher, higher, higher,” my son Oliver would squeal as he pumped his little legs furiously. Like the other dutiful parents who congregated at the small park at the top of the street from where we lived, I was his accomplice. Pushing the swing as hard as I could, I prayed that he clung tightly to the chain that secured the swing to its frame. Though I was considerably more frightened of the heights to which he ascended than he was, the exuberance he felt was palpable. His joy more than made up for my nervousness.
Oliver’s grown now. I doubt his schedule —packed as it is with work commitments, squash dates, and social commitments —permits for many swings in the park. Nor do I think it would provide the same kind of entertainment it once did. But as he and his girlfriend Alejandra move into their new digs, these more age-appropriate swings just might bring back some happy memories.