Let's Be Friends

Milly and I walked down to Adam's Park to swing on the swings, last week. The sun was low, and the evening air filtered crisply through the green of spring surrounding us. Milly swung higher and higher. Her long blond hair stretching out in the wind behind her, then sweeping forward to cover her face as she swung backward. Back and forth, back and forth, shooting her long legs out and tucking them in, ever going higher. I kept a steady swinging rhythm, but didn't dare swing any higher. I guess I am getting old, because things such as swinging and spinning, that I used to enjoy, have the tendency to make me nauseous these days.

The plastic seat hugged my hips tightly, and the chains in my hands felt cold and awkwardly large. I mentally drifted across the park. A group of college students played four-square, laughing, teasing each other, guys and girls alike, flirting shamelessly. One fellow from the group announced his departure, high-fived a few farewells, then leapt astride a greasy, old motorbike; he fired the bike up with a roar that attracted the attention of all in the park. The girls screamed and chattered in excited voices to each other. Milly and I startled in our seats, but continued to swing. The motorcycle boy flew from the park and up the street. I watched him until he turned a corner.

After the revving roar of the bike soaked into the distant mountains, the atmosphere quieted, and my ears picked up the sparkling sound of little voices. I turned to my right to discover the source of the playful sounds. I took in the sight of two fathers with their young families, watching their children play on the playground.

One of the dads was tall, balding, and calm. He sat on the grass and held onto the leash of a small white dog. His little girl, age 6 or 7, ran over to him, "Daddy! Pleeeeease, will you push me on the swing?!" The dad replied, "You're a big girl, can't you swing yourself now?" "But Daddy, it's so much funner if you push me." She smiled and pulled on his arm. In my mind I said, "C'mon dad, push your little girl. She wants to feel you there." The dad chuckled, tied the dog's leash to a pole, and walked with the girl to the swings. The little girl squealed in joy as she flew from her father's hands through the air.

Milly and I continued to swing in silence.

The sun slipped slightly lower in the sky.

The second dad was short and wiry with a scratchy goatee. He stood, following his two daughters (both close in age, probably 5-8) around the playground as they slid down the slide, hung from the monkey bars, and jumped and climbed and laughed. The stick from a sucker stuck, like a cigarette, from the corner of his mouth. He occasionally yelled out, "Don't do that! Get down! You're gonna fall! Get off of that!" The two girls thoroughly enjoyed their play, despite the restrictions. One of them trotted over to the swings and began swinging next to the happy girl whose daddy still pushed her.

I watched as the two girls smiled at each other. Then the already being pushed girl said to the new girl, "Hey, let's be friends." New girl smiled and said, "Okay." Happy girl yelled back to her pusher, "Daddy, she needs to be pushed too. Push my friend too." The pusher asked the new girl, "Would like a push? Can I push you?" New girl smiled even bigger, "Okay!" So the tall, balding man pushed the two giggling girls, they were all friends, and I smiled to myself.

Milly and I stopped swinging.

The sun had gone down.

It was dark.

And cold.

We walked home, and I was glad to have a friend.