The Golden Swing (in my living-room)
When Salim and I first got married we got really lucky with a great walk-in apartment located just minutes away from both our parents' houses. A spacious single bedroom, with a pretty large galley kitchen for a city apartment. Our landlord, a very sweet and generous elderly woman, allowed us to put in a washer/dryer, park in the driveway, take over the yard space if we were willing to clean up the overgrown grass and weeds, and utilize her garage if we needed more space. And, the rent was ridiculously low for anything in NYC. We would have been lucky to rent a parking spot at that price point, even out here in Brooklyn. We were convinced God himself intervened to find us this extraordinary setup for starting our married life together.
My contractor dad, however, thought the ceiling was too low, and there were not enough windows for adequate ventilation. The floor wasn't leveled, the doors weren't straight, the entrance too narrow, and the arch in the living room was built by amateurs. He never said so in so many words, but he didn't have to. He hated the place.
It didn't help either that my decor aesthetic included espresso furniture, repainting all the wood trim white, and too many pillows in the living room. In the first year of our marriage my dad came over just a handful of times, and glared in silence most of the time. And when we decided to stay in the same apartment even though we were expecting our first child, the glares became downright passive aggressive.
But when our son David was a few months old, my dad came by with a gift– an iron swing set he welded himself and wanted to install in our yard. It was the first time I saw him smile anywhere near our block. He installed the swing, pushed David on it for a bit, and when we got back inside, eyed the crooked arch in the living room and said, "Hey, what if we put hooks for the swing here so you can have an indoor swing for the winter?"
Now, you have to understand– my dad is super traditional. When it comes to your house, off-white is bordering on too much color for the walls. Natural wood should never be tarnished with paint. All furniture has a specific purpose. Honoring these rules is a matter of respect. Respect for your home. Respect for your guest. Respect for yourself.
This is the man who just suggested a brightly colored child's swing at the very heart of my home.
"Really? That could be so cool!" I said. And that's when we got smile number two.
Dad immediately picked up his screwdriver and proceeded to look for the beam in the arch by passionately poking holes all over it. There was a whimsical look on his face as he did this. When he discovered the beam, he declared "here it is!" and went on to install two metal brackets, on which he hung the swing. He sat himself on it happily saying "see, how strong it is! This thing will never come down!" Then he got up, put David in the swing, pushed him happily for a bit, and just like that, with the glee on his grand-baby's face and just a little joke at our expense, the crooked arch wasn't so bad anymore, holes and all.
That weekend, Salim sealed the holes and painted the arch, and that's how we came to have a swing in our living room. We do stash it away when not in use, but it does hang in the living room almost every day. For a thing that came into our lives out of unspoken passive aggressive frustration, it has been a constant source of fun, happy memories. It has been our saving grace through teething, and rainy days. When Sara joined our family, (yes, still in the same place), we got a new seat for it with a tray, and it doubled as a highchair. She was a fussy baby and the swing was one of the few places I could put her down for a few minutes at a time. It hung facing the kitchen when I was making baby food, and facing the living room when I was answering emails. Pushing Sara on the swing was one of 4 year-old David's first ever big-brother duties, and he did it gently and with pride. When Covid-19 brought the whole world to a stop, we got a new trapeze attachment and a big-kid seat for our living room swing. We couldn't go outside, but inside was just so much fun we didn't miss it too much. Yes, the swings in the park go higher, but so what? Swinging in the living room has its own shade of magic. Look ma! My feet almost reach the ceiling fan!
And my dad? I'm still not sure he likes our apartment, but I don't think he hates it nearly as much. When he sees the kids laugh and do their superhero moves on the swing he installed in our crooked arch, the rest seems to disappear. I don't know if he remembers the feelings that inspired him on the day he installed it. These days, he loves to gloat about this great idea he had. He even put one in his own living room for when the kids come to visit.
We've had some remarkable fun in our living room, and tough as he is, my Dad has had his share of it. I doubt he knows all that this swing has come to symbolize, but to me it will always be the joke that allowed my dad to begin to accept, and maybe even understand, the lifestyle we've chosen for ourselves and our family, and that means the world. It could not shine more in my mind if it were made of real gold.
