Going to The Park.
I remember, aged around 11 or 12, going to the neighborhood park right across my yard, usually empty. It wasn’t abandoned per se, but it was in a slight condition of disrepair. Kids would come, but it was a park that you could easily find time to go to by yourself. Sometimes, I’d go and swing alone, just going as high as I could, higher and higher, until I got so high it would do the weird thing when you stop at the high point before you go back down where it buckles a bit and you lift off of the swing for a second. That was my favorite part. Back then I had what I would now describe as a lion’s mane head full of hair, and it would whip back and forth, back and forth as I swung.
