A Porch Swing

Excerpt from Reflections of a Porch Sitter by Sandy Richardson

A Porch Swing

There’s nothing in the world like a porch swing.  I can’t think of anything that relaxes me more than an afternoon spent there, or anything that conjures up more sweet memories of the past.

I remember a girl from my childhood.  She was a little older and from a big city, compared to where I lived.  She was the girl all the boys in town wanted to date.  They clustered around her as she sat prettily in her swing, one leg tucked neatly under her on the seat, the other extended, toe pointed downward to lightly touch the porch floor, providing just enough push to gently sway the swing back and forth, keeping time with the music of the 50s playing from her transistor radio.

I wanted to be her.  Not so much for the adoration of the boys, but because she looked so perfect perched in that swing—a young lady whiling away the afternoon with her music and her dreams.

There was an old swing on my grandparents’ porch.  Besides my grandmother’s lap, it was the most coveted of the seats aligned along those boards.  From there, I spent many afternoons reading, listening to music, gossiping with my friends.  In the evenings, my granddaddy sat, arm across the swing back, one of us kids snuggled under that arm, head tucked neatly on his chest.  The thump-thump of his heart, the soft rocking of the swing, and the swishing of tires on the wet pavement out front lulled us into, not sleep, but that state somewhere between consciousness and dreams, where the soft murmur of conversations blurred into an indistinguishable music, so familiar and comforting.

Lessons of life were learned in that swing,  sweet cakes and homemade ice cream sampled there, babies rocked there, songs sung, books read, and laughter shared there.  Tears, too.  Everyday hurts and heart bruises healed there.  Hellos and goodbyes were said there. Love and security abounded there.

Everyone should have a porch swing.