When I was 11, I was sent from southern California to central Wisconsin to live with my grandmother. I had no idea when I was going to see my parents again.
Every single day, I went out to this ancient rope swing made from a piece of cut tire with wires sticking out of it and swung on it like a maniac, often going as high as the house. Grandma kept yelling to me that the rope was old and could break any day, and I kept swinging and singing, “a doe, a deer, a female deer…” over and over again.
I was so risk averse as a child that I struggled to learn how to ride a bike, but, yet, I couldn’t stop swinging.
Finally, I went outside to find nothing but a stub of a rope hanging from the tree. Grandma had cut it down.