written November 2008
I went over to my friend’s house this Friday. At the park, I walked over to two kids that looked about eight and six at the park, asked what they were doing, and invited them to a game of tag.
It ended up in a swinging contest. I was the judge.
I called the picture Swinging Away, This Childhood, because I know being a kid isn’t going to last, and you’re just swinging in the air, all free and happy with the wind messing up your hair. And then, before you know it, you have to get off and your childhood’s gone.
Maybe it’s not like that. But maybe it is. I’m not the one to speak. After all, I’m still swinging.