When I was a kid, my dad often packed up my brother and me and took us off to the Vasona/Oak Meadow Park in Los Gatos. My childhood memories are full of park scenes. I seriously felt like we were there everyday. I am not kidding. Maybe we were...Dad?
I have often taken my kids to this same park. One, because it's an awesome, huge park. And two, because of the memories I know it will give my own children. (Big swings, train to ride, tracks to follow, ducks to chase, trees to explore, vintage airplane and fire truck to climb...)
One my most vivid childhood memories is of running into the park and heading straight for the swings. Now...in my childhood mind's eye the swings were HUGE. (And I have to say, they are still pretty big.) I would find a swing, climb on, and wait for my dad. He would come over, take the seat in his hands and do one of those awesome pushes. (My kids call them "Big Highs")
A "pull the swing back up over his head and then let go so you'd drop down in a stomach lurching ssssssswish" type of push. One that left an invisible inverted arc...a blurred streak of yourself that you were sure no one could see you, you were moving so fast. I lived for that feeling and looked forward to it every time I climbed into the swing. In fact, I still think of it every time I climb into a swing, and every time I push my own kids. (Thanks Dad!) I live for that squeal of laughter that rises up on that first big drop-swish, knowing I'm giving them the same memories.
So the pictures today are a bit nostalgic for me.
I swang (swung ?) in this same swing.
Climbed all over this same vintage fighter airplane.
Jumped off its wings and sat in the cockpit.
Straddled these same train tracks.
Rode with my dad in the train around the park.
(Go Billy Jones Wildcat Railroad!)
(Did not carve my initials into this tree.)
And explored this same creek...fed the ducks, probably got my feet wet.
No comments:
Post a Comment