Street talk

Emily was on the swings at the playground this afternoon.

Too close for a mum’s comfort, but in reality doing no harm, was a group of young teenagers. One of the boys was, I am guessing, head of mischief innovation. Tangling the three swings up, climbing the frame, high jumping out of a swing, running onto a moving swing. He never said, “Watch me!” or “I dare you to do this…”. He simply got on quietly with the task of pushing the enjoyment limits of the swings, while his friends did a mix of watching, joining in and doing something else.

But every adult in the playground had their eye on him, including me. And so did Emily. I could see her watching him as she swung back and forth on the only occupied swing. I wasn’t sure if she was weary or in awe, but she seemed happy enough.

When he started tightrope walking along the top beam of the swings, I decided it was time to lose my spot on the one bench available and drifted slowly their way. As he approached the top of Emily’s swing he said, “Sorry, I don’t want to get in your way.”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” she replied, looking up at him at settling with pure admiration. “What you’re doing is radical!”