“This old man, he played young,

“Built a swing set just for fun.

“With a knick knack, baby swing,

“Slide and monkey bars.

This grandpa deserves five stars.”

It was over the winter that my husband and I decided to ignore our advancing age and take a giant step backward into our parenting years.

We ordered an outdoor play set for the grandchildren.

Even though both sets of kiddos have a swing set at their own homes, we felt they’d appreciate one when they came to visit.

It arrived in May in a million pieces packed into long, rectangular boxes.

I immediately regretted the decision. The mess, the work, the months it would take to complete a project like this.

Had we lost our minds, at last?

I imagined aching muscles, pulled hamstrings, splinters. I imagined chaos unfolding in the backyard.

It looked impossible to return, so I suggested we hire someone to put it together.

My husband, nearly five years my senior, insisted he do it himself.

I know, I know, we’re at an age when “careful” is a daily reminder.

Life is supposed to be slowing down. We’re supposed to be sitting in recliners, remote in hand, listening to our bones creak as our days wind down. We’re supposed to be past youthful ambitions.

Though we tire more easily and heal from simple missteps more slowly, we haven’t yet learned how to act our age.Despite, or perhaps because of, losing so many people in our circle these past few years, we are determined to eke every last ounce of life from however many years we have left.

We recently expanded all of our gardens, doubling the size of the veggie plot and turning the railroad space into a dinosaur land. The bending, the pulling, the hauling. It hurt like heck but in a good kind of way.

We still walk every day. We still stay up late on Saturday nights watching “SNL” and movies. We still enjoy a cocktail now and then. We still book kayaking and snorkeling vacations. And we still tussle with our 90-pound dog daily.

The audacity of denial? Perhaps. Luck? Definitely.

Of course, we know our days are numbered. We figure we can count them sitting on the sofa or we can do the math while up to our elbows in power tools.

Nevertheless, I confessed, this particular project might be too much of a beast.

“I can do it,” my husband said.

He also could get hurt. He could pass out. He could blow a hip or a shoulder. He could get half way through and then determine it was not a good idea.

“People our age don’t build swing sets,” I said. “They pay someone else to do it.”

He was adamant. And, so I warned the youngsters it might be a few months before things were up and running.

I was wrong.

With an afternoon’s help from our son-in-law and his sophisticated tool kit, that playset was ready to go in a couple of days.

On Memorial Day, the kids put it through the paces. They swung standing up. They flipped upside down. They hoisted all kinds of toys up to the ladder to the fort atop the slide and then hurled them back down.

And the 3-year-old conquered his Mount Everest.

Choosing to forgo the perfectly good wooden ladder designed to make the ascent to the slide’s top easier, he stood at the bottom edge of the slope, gripped the sides and begin the arduous climb up the plastic incline.

The hard way.

It took triple the time it would have had he chosen the ladder, but he never gave up. Grunting, sweating, hoisting his little body along the slippery fiberglass. One tiny sneaker up, a short slide down, another step up, another slide down. His eyes were laser focused, his mouth betraying the physicality of the challenge.

At last, he reached the top, turned around, clapped his hands and, in the blink of an eye, slid down to his starting point. And began the whole process again.

We cheered. Because he’d accomplished his goal, and because we understand the joy in not always taking the easy way.

In life, there will be mountains to climb, hardships to endure, limits to be tested.

Perhaps this was a preschooler’s training ground.

Or perhaps that apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.

If I’ve learned anything during these bitter, fast-moving chaotic months of 2025, it is to make home a sanctuary. When the news is overwhelming and the future seems bleak, I walk through my gardens and marvel at nature’s persistence.

I’ve learned to savor the small wins, to regale in the simple joy of achievement even when the only people applauding are under the age of 10.

And I’ve come to realize there is merit in going to bed each night completely worn out. Nothing keeps those 2 a.m. scaries at bay like complete exhaustion.

We set out to construct a swing set, a lofty goal for two people old enough to get seriously hurt going down a slide. And we did it — well, he did most of it — proving that even in old age, sometimes you can still get the win.

Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years.

donnavickroy4@gmail.com