My Swing Set

    Mamaw, Daddy’s grandmother, bought me a swing set when I was three or four years old. Grandpa, Mama’s daddy, put it together and bolted it securely to the ground, which was a good thing because I was fearless. The swing set was modest by today’s standards, but to me it was the most fun.

    There was a glider swing, two regular swings, and a lawn swing, and each offered a different type of challenge besides swinging. My baseline was to swing on any swing as high as possible. On the glider, I would grasp the handles, brace my feet on the pedals, and swing so high that I had to lie back flat or lean forward like an Olympic rower. The lawn-swing was a sweet looking swing with two benches across from each other and a floor. Swinging while sitting on one of the benches quickly became boring, so I would stand on the floor at a right angle to the seats, grasp the poles, and swing sideways.

    The regular swings held multiple challenges. Each swing had a flat, rectangular seat, with a chain at each end attached to the top bar. I could sit on the seat, stand on the seat, or lie on my stomach across the seat and swing. I could also adjust the height up or down depending on my frame of mind. When the chain was shortened, I would feel high off the ground but couldn’t swing as freely. When the chain was lengthened, I was closer to the ground, but I could swing so high that I could see across the fence into the neighbors’ backyards or up the street to see who was headed home from work, depending on which direction I was facing. This led me to my favorite activity. First, I would swing so high that when I was at the top of the backswing, my eye level was above the top bar of the swing set. Next—and this took careful timing—when I was as far forward as I could go, I would let go and fly through the air and land on my feet—hopefully. Fortunately, I never landed on anyone or got hurt.

    The next activity the swing set provided was not part of the design. The poles on the end came together in an upside-down V shape with a brace halfway up across the middle—like an uppercase letter A. This brace provided a place to hang upside down by my knees and observe the world. I could also “skin the cat.” To “skin the cat” you hang upside down, grab the bar and flip backward, landing on your feet. Mama insists that I spent most of my childhood upside down. That explains a lot. 

The Whoop-dee-doo

    One of my favorite lessons in high school English class was onomatopoeia, words that sound like what they mean, like tick-tock, buzz, or meow. I suppose every family has its own unique vocabulary, but I think my mother went above and beyond in creating new words to keep us, and my Daddy, on our toes. It was surprising to us to find that others did not share or understand these everyday terms. We had Polish Egg Rolls, Buggie-boos, Mini-ha-has, and Whoop-dee-doos.

    I cannot say for certain that this word would be an onomatopoeia because, technically, it is more of a feeling than a sound. A Whoop-dee-doo was a special thing that we all enjoyed with giggles and glee. However, it is difficult to describe to the uninitiated.  Whoop-de-doos had a strong influence on how we navigated through town and how much we anticipated the trip.

    The earliest Whoop-dee-doo I remember was located on Jefferson Avenue in East Point, Georgia on the way to Mrs. Moore’s Wee House Kindergarten. In those days, kindergarten was not part of the regular elementary school program, so my parents paid for me to attend. My school was a Wee House located in an older neighborhood of tree-lined roads and sidewalks. There were rock walls, steps leading from the road to the front porches, and American flags flying proudly. Behind Mrs. Moore’s home, was a grassy area, a playground with a big swing set, and a small cinder-block building that served as our classroom.

    Getting ready for school in the morning can become tiresome and cause many children to dawdle, but I knew the ride to school would most likely include a Whoop-dee-do, so it was much easier for me to wake up and get ready to leave. It didn’t take long for me to memorize the route to school, and each morning I would anticipate the Whoop-de-doo long before we reached it.

    The location of the Whoop-de-doos varied with the direction of travel. Traveling east to west might be delightful, while traveling west to east on the same road might be disappointing. In addition, some Whoop-de-doos depended on going straight through the green light and some were not. Mama knew the secret to finding the best Whoop-de-doos regardless, and she looked forward to them with the same excitement that I did.

    Seatbelts were a thing of the future for us, so when we encountered a Whoop-dee-doo, we felt the full effect. Mama has always been a careful driver and did not need to increase her speed to make the most of the Whoop-dee-doos. When we encountered one, the car would roll over the bump in the road, we would briefly lift from our seats, our stomachs would flutter, and we would land with a small thud—laughing, with a loud, unanimous “Wheeeeeee.” 

    Mama was the one who took us to school and picked us up because Daddy was at work. As a result, Daddy was not informed about the location of Whoop-de-doos, the proper protocol for approaching a Whoop-dee-doo, or the correct emotional response. He lived in ignorance of our Whoop-dee-doo tradition much longer than we realized.

    Whoop-dee-doos are found in other locations, and Mama was always quick to identify them. So, when they moved to Hall County, Georgia, unbeknownst to Daddy, Mama started identifying the optimal routes for Whoop-dee-doos.

    One afternoon, Mama and Daddy were returning from a typical shopping trip. Hall County had recently extended McEver Road so that it crossed Browns Bridge Road at the traffic light. This was one of those supreme Whoop-dee-doos that was totally dependent on getting a green light. Daddy was driving a little Honda Civic and they were chatting and making plans for the evening. Mama was so involved in the conversation that she did not warn Daddy about the upcoming Whoop-de-doo until it was too late. Not knowing the proper protocol, he didn’t realize he should slow down a bit and was focused on getting through the light before it changed to red. In a split second, Mama said, “Bill, there’s a …” and the car became literally airborne and thudded back to the pavement. Daddy didn’t know the proper emotional response, so he responded with loud exclamations of gibberish. That’s how Daddy learned about Whoop-dee-doos.