The task was daunting.  The challenge had been issued.  I would not back down.  I would succeed.  Somehow.

The two youngest boys challenged me to cross over on the playground’s Monkey Bars.  They knew the odds were long.  Given my general girthiness, height, lack of upper body strength, and that whole “Gravity Thing,” I would really need to dig deep.  Somehow.

The site of my Waterloo.

Grabbing on, I swung with all my might and…  plopped onto the sand.

Another try, same result.

My sons laughed.  I would need another approach. Somehow.

Getting ready to swing, I adjusted.  I thought outside the box or more so on top of the bars.

Rather than swing, I hoisted.  I flung my large frame skyward and planted my arm pits onto the top of either bar.

Wiggling my hips and scooching my arms, I willed myself forward.  As my children watched in wonder and my arm’s skin burned onto the playground metal, I neared my goal.  Swinging my feet across the final bit a chasm, I arrived.  A loophole finder.  A game time innovator.  A playground champion.

My two youngest spawn (a.k.a. my playground tormentors).