The Swing of Love

Our nephew Micah who’s been living with us for the past year graduated from high school, and with his job as a barista going full steam and his college plans set, he moved in with new roommates. I’m sure the situation will fit the college lifestyle better than bunking with aunt and uncle, though I still insist that Miska and I can, when necessary, drop it like it’s hot. Wyatt and Seth were sad to see their very cool cousin go, but the grief was eased by the fact that Micah’s parting gift was to leave behind his Xbox 360.

With Micah’s departure, Seth regained his room. This meant Miska painting and organizing, resulting in fresh colors and one wall covered in chalk paint so that Seth’s artistic inspirations could have a large canvas. A couple weeks ago, Seth proffered a request, “Can I have a hammock in my room?” Now, you could not know this, but I have a love affair with hammocks. Friends of ours have a hammock in their yard, and on more than one occasion when they’ve been out of town, I’ve asked if I could use their house – and  it’s largely due to the hammock. Two years ago, I went hiking with several friends to Dolly Sods in West Virginia. One friend strung up a hammock, and when everyone else went on the day hike, I could not pull myself away from the swinging nest. I laid there, book in hand, enjoying the breeze and the contented experience of being rocked like a baby. Despite this love, however, I’ve only actually owned one hammock, purchased at a tourist-trap market in Mexico. It was a cheap nylon model, and it ended up in a garage sale next to the 25¢ golf balls.

So when Seth asked for a hammock, he did not need to make a strong case or ask pretty please. I bought two, one to install in each boy’s room. I considered a third for our bedroom, but I could not for the life of me concoct a reasonable case for how it would accentuate Miska’s well-designed feng shui.

I called a friend who has manly tools and who finds his way to a stud by tapping on drywall and would only snicker were I to pull out my battery-operated beeper. I called this friend because I have two boys who will now have a swinging bed mounted in their room. There is trouble in our future, no doubt, but my hope was to at least minimize the range of injuries for which we should prepare.

After an hour of tapping walls and considering hanging options and making a run to Martin’s Hardware for supplies (twice), we installed the hammocks. Seth has nested in his for hours at a time, reading. Wyatt has slept in his hammock the past two nights. I bought double-nester hammocks, partly because we got them on a screaming deal but mainly because I don’t know why you’d ever want to close off the possibility of curling up with your son and holding him tight and blessing the fact that there is such a moment so good.

The first day we hung them, I laid in the hammock with Seth. He laid his head on my shoulder. We sat and drifted easily back and forth. We were quiet. After a few minutes, Wyatt said, “Hey, Seth, I’d like a turn with dad.” Wyatt climbed in, resting his head on my shoulder. We drifted. I could swing with these boys forever.