When my family and I first moved to North Carolina, just about three years ago, we were fascinated by something that we didn’t have in Illinois: trees.

BIG ONES! Huge, tall trees right there in our back yard! It was like living in a forest. We would wake in the morning and stare out the window, revering of the beauty before us. Moving from the plain, paved jungle of suburban Chicago, this lovely landscape presented a kind of awe which made us certain that we had been blessed by a lifetime of living on vacation. Yes indeed, life felt pretty grand. I knew almost immediately that it was my duty to put these trees to fun use.

I wasn’t alone in this idea. My children asked me to build some sort of tree fort. And as much as I did want to build one, I realized that my Homer Simpson-like skills with woodwork, combined with my miserable collection of power tools, would make for a rather hideous scar on an otherwise lovely back yard.

I had another idea, something my brother-in-law had already done: a cool spinning tire swing.

I just knew this would result in endless fun, laughter, good times and great memories. And it would be cheap, right? Heck, they give old tires away for free at the tire store. I’d just need a few chains, some clips and rope and stuff.

After $100 and 3 trips to Home Depot, phase 1 of the tire swing was built, and I was proud of my work. (I had to purchase the most durable chains, of course, just in case a 500-pound gorilla decided to play on the thing.)

The next step was simple, or so I thought. I merely had to throw the rope 30 feet in the air and loop it around the thick branch I had identified as being the perfect mounting point. Piece of cake, right? It turned out, to my shock, that I didn’t have the hulking strength I had imagined. Somewhere there is a photo that my wife took while I was heaving a rope with a hammer tied to one end in the air, running away, covering my head, as the hammer fell to the ground. I did this repeatedly before accepting the fact that I would have to look for a different approach, lest I bludgeon my skull.

My grand idea? I stood, balancing precariously, atop a 12-foot step ladder. By my calculations, 30 – 12 = 18 feet (I am a mathematical wizard). A much more ‘heavable’ distance. I think I just created that word, heavable. I think you know what I am saying.

Anway, 18 feet: no problem! After a few more attempts, this time standing on top of the wobbling ladder on uneven ground, the rope was in place, and to everyone’s astonishment, including my own, I was alive and well (and quite satisfied with myself.)

After many more hours of frustration and effort, the tire swing was up. I’ve cut out a fair amount of detail here, but we must move forward. My children applauded and my wife was clearly impressed by my newly-discovered machismo. As you can see in the picture, I added some sort of clippy thing to allow the tire to spin. This, I knew, would add a significant amount of fun. What well-rounded American child doesn’t love spinning to the point of puking?

The kids were quick to try it out, as their proud father looked on, arms crossed, chest puffed. “World’s greatest dad,” I told myself, as they spun around and screamed in a drunken state of utter happiness. While the kids played I cleaned my tools up (by cleaning my tools, I mean I threw them into my unorganized toolbox of junk.) From the front of the house I could still hear their delighted cries. Listen to all that fun!

The screams continued…and intensified.

They are having fun, right? Is that a scream of fun or a scream of pain? Are they having SO much fun that they are literally crying? They must be.

When I returned to the backyard I found that the screams were not born of joy: They were born of pain, and some degree of terror. My youngest daughter was on the ground with her legs wedged underneath the contraption. The rope had slid down the branch, and perhaps stretched a bit, and the tire swing was no longer 3 feet above the ground.

No problem! A simple, perhaps anticipatory, glitch in an otherwise flawless design.

Using my sharply honed troubleshooting skills, I realized that the looped section of rope had come to rest in a flat spot on the branch, and it could slip no further. I simply needed to raise the swing higher (see the rope-clippy thingies.) Every great inventor has a few failed beta tests. Unfortunately, the slippage had pushed the tire swing closer to the tree trunk, but I wasn’t about to let something as trivial as tire swing-to-tree proximity spoil the fun. I simply told my perfectly obedient children, “Be very careful not to hit the tree.” I emphasized the word very. Problem solved!

“Are you sure that’s safe?” my wife asked. “Oh yeah, it’s fine, look at how much fun they are having!” And indeed it was fun, even for me. But it wasn’t long before knees, arms and heads made painful contact with the tree. I reiterated the be very careful instructions, knowing that my 5 and 7 year-old children (and all of their friends) would do so.

For the rest of the summer, the tire swing was mostly fun. Once in a while someone would cry (sometimes a neighbor kid.) When this happened I simply restated the rules of tire swing play:

Be very careful.

Winter came and the tire swing was forgotten. The thick twine rope was left in the cold while my family and I huddled inside by the fireplace. I figured the expensive twine rope would last forever, and by spring it appeared just as sturdy as when I first constructed the enormously fun contraption. I even stood on the swing and gave it a few heavy bounces to make sure. One can never be too careful!

Unfortunately, despite my scientific stress test, the rope wasn’t as sturdy as it had been months before. The weather had apparently taken its toll, and as scientific as my jump test was, it failed to predict the looming fate of the rope. One Saturday morning while the kids were playing in the back yard with a few friends, I smiled as I listened to their childish glee and bellows of joy.

I’m not just a great dad, I’m a great neighbor too!

And, once again, the screams of joy morphed into shrieks of pain. I ran to investigate, only to find the neighbor girl on the ground, terrified, with her legs trapped beneath the tire. The rope had snapped somewhere near the top, having been stressed to the point of no return by a 50 pound child. The rope and chains were in a heap on the ground (and thank God none of the heavy stuff landed on the girl’s head.) After a few hugs and the wise instructions to “shake it off,” all was well. All, that is, except for the tire swing.

Throughout the summer the creative children found new uses for the fallen swing. One great game involved placing one child inside while the others rolled it. So I decided to leave the tire swing in the back yard. After all, I worked hard on the expensive contraption. Sure, it looked a little trashy there in the backyard, but anything fun usually involves some sort of mess, right?

This past weekend I mowed the lawn for the first time this year. There, in the backyard, was the tire swing, my former pride and joy, with chains and a long part of rope still attached. It looked pathetic. As I neared it, knowing that I would have to move the thing eventually, I worked the mower around the rope. I’ll get that on the next pass, I told myself.

The lawnmower, however, had a different idea. It grabbed the rope with ferocious speed, tangled it within the blade, and immediately stalled. Frustrated with the non-sentient device, I turned the mower on its side with a swift flip, as if to punish the thing, and untangled the rope.

Working the rope out of the underside of the mower took some time and effort, and a few swear words. While I did this, gasoline spilled out onto the grass. The calming aroma or fumes, while doing wonders to settle my angst, failed alarm me to the fact that gasoline was soaking into my grass. As for the lawnmower blade, it didn’t look very good-not good at all. So I suppose the cost of the swing increased by around $20 (the cost of a new blade). With gas prices, I’ll go ahead and add about $1.00 in lost gas. Grass seed and repair of the lawn—who knows?

Today I have a lovely tire swing doing its part to contribute to the clutter of my garage.

I thought about throwing it away, but I am fairly certain it is against some sort of law to chuck a used tire in the trash (even if it would fit in the trashcan). It turns out, the tire store is happy to give those old tires for free for a darn good reason: It costs a lot to dispose of them.

tl;dr: Anyone want a free tire swing? The chains are really strong.