By GARRET LEIVA
Community editor
---- — Whether blue jeans or bicuspids, kids outgrow — it's what they do. There are times when a parent must stand back, hands in pockets. Other times the only way to grow up is to tear down with a crowbar and hammer.
Saying goodbye is never easy — even to a frail former nemesis. This past weekend I tore apart seven years of my daughter's childhood one locknut at a time. I didn't merely dismantle a rusty swing set; I put Villager II to rest.
A swing set is quintessential backyard America; it ranks up there with Lawn Jarts and barbecue grills. However, things can quickly fall to pieces when putting together a swing set.
When it comes to assembly-required projects, I'm a fairly handy man; then I met the ego crusher Villager II.
The swing set from hell — or more likely China — came into our lives in 2004. I decided our then 2-year-old lacked outside fun, other than pulling the dog's tail. I set out to bring home a box full of little parts and big headaches.
At the store I faced a plethora of play sets with proper names like Scarborough, Prospector, Addison and Patriot. Picture-perfect kids with stain-free clothes cavorted on the brochures while their "parents" smiled in their equally sterile attire.
I finally chose Villager II, which sounded like a Stepford Wives subdivision built on a backfilled uranium dump — or maybe a mound of Villager I models.
I took the purchase slip to the cashier and feather-weight paper became a 125-pound box. Somehow I dead-lifted the monstrosity into the minivan without any breakage — swing set or my parts.
Once home, I opened Pandora's cardboard box. Inside, wrapped in brown paper, lay my nemesis for the next 48 hours; assembly only required simple hand tools and my soul.
Contrary to the enclosed "instructions," the swing set needed more than a screwdriver and wrench. The real necessities were a six pack and a sound-proof garage door. How else could you get through "Ladder assembly with holes up into ends of hand rails as shown in Figure 3" logic- and punctuation-free sentences at 1 a.m. in a dimly lit garage.
As a kid, I enjoyed building Erector Sets and model airplanes. However, these creations were more odes to brute force than engineering marvels. Square pegs, round holes, isosceles triangles: I shaped them all to my will.
The Villager II didn't break me, but it severally bent my Mr. Fix-it confidence.
Now, all these years later, it had come full-circle: a pile of parts. I thought seeing Villager II eviscerated would bring devilish-grin closure. Instead it made me realize that kids outgrow — swing sets and parents.
Hopefully there will be one last swing set to build this spring; Villager III perhaps? While I'm ready to wield the socket set once more, I just might have to stand back, hands in pockets.
