June 16, 2004

Swing set assembly far from playful

By
Herald Editor

      When it comes to assembly required, I've always considered myself a handy man. Then I met the ego crusher known as the Villager II.
      I'm not sure if my socket set will ever recover.
      A swing set is quintessential backyard Americana. It ranks right up there with Lawn Jarts and rusty barbecue grills. Bringing a swing set to life, however, is anything but idyllic. It is downright ugly falling to pieces along with R63 and V21.
      The swing set from hell - or more likely China - came into our lives last Saturday. Dear old dad decided the two-year-old lacked outside stimulants (other than chasing doggie's tail or beheading mommy's petunias). So I jettisoned the minivan seats to bring home a box full of little parts and big headaches. My wife's only instructions - nothing in the shade of tacky.
      Alas, the directions inside my soon-to-be purchased swing set were a muted tone of gibberish.
      Inside the store, I faced wall-to-wall choices: wood, plastic or metal swing sets. All of them had Pleasant Valley Sunday names like Scarborough, Prospector, Addison and Patriot. Picture-perfect kids with stain-free clothes cavorted on the brochure cover while their "parents" smiled in their business casual attire.
      I finally chose Villager II, which sounded like a Stepford-subdivision built on a backfilled uranium dump. Or maybe a backfill of Villager I models.
      Sheepishly, I took the purchase slip to the cashier and feather weight paper became a 124 pound cardboard box. A kid from the stockroom wheeled the eight-foot long monstrosity to the minivan. Unfortunately for me, it fit.
      As he walked back to the store, the kid told me to "have a nice day." What he meant was "pray for a hernia unloading thee beast, lest Villager II smite you, dude."
      Of course, getting the swing set home was the easy part. Then I cut open Pandora's cardboard box. Inside, carefully wrapped in brown paper, lay my nemesis for the next 48 hours. Assembly only required five simple hand tools and my utter soul.
      Contrary to the enclosed instructions, putting together a swing set requires more than a screwdriver and a hammer. The real necessities are a six-pack and a sound-proof garage door. What else will get you through "With narrow side of ladder steps facing away from slide push ends of ladder assembly with holes up into ends of hand rails at the rear of slide and attach as shown in Figure 3" punctuation-free sentences at 1:30 a.m. during a thunderstorm.
      Now as a kid, I enjoyed putting together Erector Sets and model airplanes. However, my creations were more odes to brute force than engineering marvels. Square pegs, round holes, isosceles triangles - I shaped them all to my will. Not surprisingly, fiery dioramas best described my plastic World War II fighter planes.
      Today, I am known as a righty-tighty. A card-carrying member of the Wreck-it-Yourself Union, I pay my dues in stripped screws and broken bolts. No project would be complete without a trip to the hardware store for industrial grade fasteners. Besides, it gives me an excuse to wear my "Are You Torquing to Me?" T-shirt out in public.
      While the swing set still resides in our garage, Ella is eager to try out the Villager II. Her initial response to my blood, sweat and beers handiwork: "Daddy, did you break it yet?" My adorable little ego crusher - I hope she picked out a new socket set for Father's Day.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com