SWING.
I’ve never been known to be much of a swinger. But that day, I was one.
Afterward, I never swung again.
It was September 8th 2009, notable for being International Literacy Day, but more importantly my own birthday. I was 14, to be exact. We all know what it’s like to be 14 (well, other than those born before 2000) – we just want to be wild and free, dang it. So there I thought, what is the most wild and liberating thing I can do for my 14th birthday?
Go to the local park, of course!
Imaginative, I know. Anyway, straight after school a group of buddies and I headed straight for the park on our bicycles. There’s nothing particularly special about this park – it was your standard fare; swings, rocking horses, some weird bicycle thing that you can pedal in circles and a jungle gym in the shape of a freakin’ tractor. Okay, I guess the tractor was pretty cool. One kid got stuck in the wheels one time and the fire department had to cut him out. But that’s a story for another time.
We approached the swing set. Friend 1 and I, who we shall call Jeremy at this point, got to the two available seats first and began swinging. Sorry friends 2, 3, 4 and 5, you’re just going to have to wait your turn.
But their turn never came. Or, at least, I never saw it come.
Jeremy and I were happily swinging along on the swing set until friend 2, who we shall call Derrick, offered to push me on the swing. “It’s your birthday – you get the special birthday swing push!”
There was nothing overly dramatic about the special birthday swing push – just a guy standing behind you pushing you on the swings instead of using your own momentum to swing. Yet the special birthday swing push changed my perspective on swings forever.
At first, nothing happened. The swing swung as it would if it had been just I controlling it. But then, that familiar lurch in my stomach. The one that says: ‘Tenacity, quick, you’re not in control! Do something!’ Derrick was pushing the swing harder than was necessary, and I could feel my butt-cheeks slipping from the swing’s warm embrace. I had to act, fast.
“Derrick, stop, you’re pushing too high!” I said. But it was too late. I had an ultimatum – act now or fall to an improbable death.
I leaned backwards, trying to counterbalance the swing to stop myself from falling.
I leaned too far.
I leaned so far that half of my body was now hanging beneath the swing, only my waist down still firmly on the seat. By this point, Derrick had finally let go. Unfortunately, the swing still continued to move. With my back parallel to the floor, the swing swung forward once more. My back collided with the tarmac floor, ripping flesh from spine as it went. My body was dragged off of the swing, which continued forward. I rolled over to alleviate the pain from my sore back. The swing swung back. And then I raised my head.
Big mistake.
The swing swung forward again, colliding with the back of my skull. Crack.
Epic fail.
More pain. My friends were laughing. I stood up, communicating to them that I wanted to go home to nurse my injuries. They let me go on my own, staying at the park, probably to worship the tainted swing. I cycled home as fast as I could, the wind feeling as though it was tattooing my spine with agony.
When I got home, my mother prepared a bag of frozen peas to rest my back on. She placed them down on the sofa. I pressed my back into the chilly vegetables; a cooling sensation waved across my entire body.
Rest in peas, I thought.
The injury actually left scars on my back that lasted six months – one circular scar for each tip on my spine. That certainly made getting changed for Physical Education at school…interesting, to say the least.
I hope you all enjoyed my epic fail.
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