A SONS REQUEST

In many ways my childhood can be divided into parts. Before. And after. For example, before they took out the merry-go-round at my elementary school. And after.

In fact, I remember the exact day they took it out. That dismal, dreary, depressing day will be forever seared into my memory as the day that my world changed. The word on the street, and swirling around my first grade classroom, was that over the summer, a young girl, who was playing at the school with her friends on the merry-go-round, got her leg caught underneath the merry-go-round and broke her back which tragically left her paralyzed. I'm not really sure if this story was true, or, was just a fear tactic the administration employed to scare us into believing that there was valid reason to be taking away such a wonderful part of our playground, and childhood.

I can remember feeling distinctly that just because some girl had poor luck, wasn't reason enough for us all to suffer. I can also remember feeling horrible to be feeling that. But you must understand. You see, it wasn't that I didn't care about that girl, if she did in fact exist, it was that I just, in my simple mind, couldn't fathom life without my beloved merry-go-round.

The merry-go-round seemed to hold almost magical-type powers. Grabbing hold of the cold metal bars, and running, running, running toward the freedom that could be only felt once you jumped on and held on for dear life while you spun, spun, spun into oblivion. The world turning into a blur. Children running, swinging, & playing into the smeared together background. The very essence of childhood can be found spinning on a merry-go-round. Round, and round and round I would turn. Holding on, enjoying every bit of centrifical force I could grasp.

The merry-go-round was the playground toy that was so big and so large that it seemed it had enough room for every single child to experience the pure bliss that could be found within it's magical grip. It had it seemed, an almost mystical way of being a playground toy of inclusion. All were welcome, as long as they could run, spin, and hold on. As I remember these feelings, I can't help but smile, and remember the spinning, the twirling, the laughing. Childhood at it's sweetest.

Today, I had a rare opportunity to spend a little one-on-one time with my son. After running a few errands I asked him what he would like to do, just with mommy. And he simply said, "Let's eat macaroni & cheese and then go to the park." My son seems to be growing up so quickly it seems, right before my eyes. Often times I look at just how tall he is, and think to myself, "No! Stop growing. Don't get old & complicated. Stay small & simple." So, to hear his uncomplicated request of a day spent with mom, sounded just perfect.

After our lunch of macaroni & cheese (for him) and Thai curry soup (for me), we headed on over to the park. And we played, and played, and played. This particular park we went to was, in my opinion, hands down, the best park we've ever been too. I had some errands to run over in Murray, so we went to the Murray City Park to play. And the park there is brand new, and fantastic. It is filled with new equipment, and to my absolute delight, two modern day versions of the merry-go-round.

I hadn't been on a merry-go-round since first grade. You see, it seemed that story about the injured girl must have made the rounds, because as soon as we lost ours, all the other schools and parks were tearing their merry-go-rounds out as well. I now understand why. Because of the danger, the fear, and the lawsuits. But oh the fun! The fun!

So, when I saw those merry-go-rounds, the first thing I did, was grab my son, and run, faster than any adult should, towards the fun. And we spent the next hour spinning, spinning, spinning. For just a short time, I forgot who I was. I forgot I was an adult. With responsibility. With bills. I didn't care that I was the only parent playing on the playground equipment, let alone on the merry-go-round. I spun. With. My. Kid. For a blissful twenty or thirty minutes. We turned, and spun and swung until we were both completely worn out. Then we fell, utterly exahusted, on the grass, and rested. But while we layed there, and I listened to the innocent thoughts of my four year old son, I said a prayer. At that very moment I thanked God. Thanked him for my son. Thanked him for letting me be a mother. Thanked him for the wonderful gift it was to see joy through my child's eyes. Thanked him for dirty, sweaty, little boys. Thanked him for merry-go-rounds. And most of all, I thanked him for a few moments of pure, unadulterated bliss. I thanked him for the gift of feeling, if only for a minute, exactly like a child again.

Today I thank God for having a boy, and a park where I could spin.