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Swinging Solo

He did not make the announcement on his own.


It came from her.

Her feet running like the grass was on fire, hollering our names through the screen door.

We had to come, she said. “Quick.”

At which time I threw the dish towel behind me and tripped on the heels of my husband, both of us hustling to see what we were told we wouldn’t believe.

And there on the red swing, where he’d sat a thousand times, was our son–beaming like an Olympian.

“Show ‘em,” our daughter said.

And like that, our son started pumping his legs.  Out. Then in.

Out…like she’d taught him.

Then in.


And that was it.




Except it wasn’t.

Because there he was…our boy…swinging from scratch…with his whole heart.

Making the three of us proud.


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