Does anyone still actually own a swing set? Cause seriously, if not, the kids today are totally missing out. It's one thing to go to the park, but to have your very own swing set - that's what makes a kid feel special. Unless of course it's a child of this growing generation that doesn't feel special unless they have their own iPod - which case, all parents need to give them a swift reality check and then a swing set.
When I was four years old, my Grandparents and I moved into a two story home with my aunt Debbie and my older sister. In front of the house there was a large sand box that was empty except of course for the sand. I was okay with that though, I was a very creative child and as long as I had a pair of socks and a giant sand box, I could create a number of fat little sand stuffed creatures. I also ran out of socks a lot and was forbidden from taking them to my sandbox. It got a little boring after that.
Then one day, as if by a miracle, a swing set appeared in my sandbox. Like the proverbial bike on Christmas morning, my swing set was a red shiny metal, fresh out of a box and assembled by my aunt - just for me. Except I liked the swing set dramatically more because I couldn't actually ride a bike and when I tried I would always fall down. (Seriously, I ran into a brick wall at 5, fell into a puddle of car oil at 6, broke my arm at 10, and when Matt tried to teach me to ride again in High School, I almost fell into a ditch). But a swing set I could work.
Unfortunately I don't think swing sets came with proper weight anchors, or thick coatings and additional protective measures. Because anytime I would swing too high, the swing set would nearly tip over backwards. I had one of those attachment swings that two kids could sit in and swing back and forth. One day, the plastic broke mid swing and I fell through, slicing my skin from my hip bone to the bottom of my ribcage. My backside hit sand and the swing just kept going, running me into the ground, stuck in in a broken plastic seat, pants filled with sand and bleeding to death.
Not really to death.
In fact my family never found out about it. Once I freed myself from the death trap, I went inside, cleaned myself up, found the first aid kit and did my best to avoid all contact until I had healed up. No one ever found out. I was either super stealthy, or drastically under supervised. Either way, I didn't have to get stitches or hear a lecture on how to properly use a swing set.
Swing sets come with proper protection now . . . I think it takes away from the childhood experience if you ask me.
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