It was beautiful here on Saturday. The temperature lingered in the mid 70’s, so I took advantage of the day and spent it with my godson and little cousins. I loaded up the rugrats in my car and we headed to the park.

We played on the monkey bars, slid on the sliding board, went up and down on the seesaw, got dizzy on the merry-go-round, then we tackled the swings. I hadn’t been on a swing set in ages. In fact, the last time I was in a swing, it was one of those lawn swings where 2-3 people sit and converse.

But I thought, what the heck, I might as well show the kids how I won the title of swinging champion of my 2nd grade class. I must have been suffering from delusions of grandeur, because swinging at age 7 does not compare to swinging when you’re in your 30’s.

I kept thinking about the rush I would feel as a child when I’d swing really high and then jump out of the seat of the swing, as if I were flying. I made the huge mistake of trying it as an adult. And what made it worse was that the kids were egging me on.

They kept chanting, “Higher, swing higher!” So I gave the fans what they wanted. I kept swinging higher and higher until I felt that I was at a good height to jump out of the swing seat. So after like 20 or so swings, I launched my body into the air from the swing….

And I swear to you, my heart stopped while I was in midair. I’d launched myself with so much velocity, that I was not prepared for the landing, and I hit the ground with a ferocious thud.

My little cousins and godson ran to my aide with a look of fright in their eyes. But little Tyson was the only one who brought me back down to earth in another way when he said, “Nikki………..don’t do that no more.” Thus was the end to my life as a swinger.