The Old Front Porch Swing
Reflections of my past...
Some time ago I stopped by the old home place. I paused and looked for a long time at the place that holds so many memories of a past life. Some of the flowers have been replaced and the trees and scrubs have grown. A lot had changed since I last remember the old home that once rang with youth and laughter of a family with young children growing up. A new coat of paint and an older couple reside in what used to be my home and if they noticed me gazing, were probably wondering who this strange fellow was that was giving their home the ‘once over’
I didn't need to waste their time with memories I alone possessed
I didn’t stop in. I just didn’t feel it appropriate at the time and didn’t feel I needed to waste their time with memories I alone possessed. There may be another time.
There was one thing that caught my eye. The old front porch swing was still there. It just hung motionless by the old chains that held it securely to the hooks overhead. They were probably the same old hooks we had installed so long before and the chains and the swing itself with a new coat of paint to match the color of the painted stucco on the house.
Did you home have a front porch swing?See results without voting
we would swing higher and higher Jack’s toes reaching to touch the ceiling
My mind was racing vividly. Remembering the times we would sit as a family, maybe after a supper (I understand it’s known as dinner now) of dried beans and fried potatoes with a big pan of cornbread and a cold glass of milk… We would race through the house to the front porch to see who would get to sit in the swing, letting the screened door slam behind us. My brother Jack was usually the first to finish then Jim. I would run and squeeze in between my older brothers and we would swing higher and higher Jack’s toes reaching to touch the ceiling of the porch.
"Don’t swing so high"
After mom finished with washing the dishes and putting the ‘leftovers’ away, she would join us wiping the sweat from her forehead with her apron as she sit down. "Don’t swing so high," she would remind us, and Jack would stop the swing and he and Jim would move on to play at something else. I would ask mom to join me and she would move over beside me and she would swing softly. Some times she would hum or sing ‘church songs’ and I would lay down and put my head in her lap, as her mind would carry her maybe to her childhood times.
swinging with not a care in the world…
Us boys used to love to run to that old swing when it stormed outside. We would grab an old home made quilt mom had made and jumping into that old swing bundling up with just our heads out watching while the rain would cascade down the road beside the house. Sometimes the wind would blow the spray of that rain in our faces and we would huddle under that old quilt laughing and swinging with not a care in the world…
© 2010 SamSonS
More by this Author
In, 'Does Birth Order Really Make a Difference' I pose a personal example of comparison. There are certain stigmas associated with birth order...
In the childhood story, The Tree House, I try to convey a time in the early life of a young boy and his friends growing up in the early 1950’s in upper east Tennessee. A time of freedoms and carefree life styles...
In “Jumpin’ Trains”, I relate to one time I followed my big brother Jack just a little too far. I didn’t realize the danger that some bigger boys went to just to have some fun. Yes, I should have let go before...