Prelude to a Snowcone

Ten can be a pivotal age. You’re not an adult yet, not even a teen, but the idea that you know best is starting to gel, small little jabs at pressing your luck begin without the benefit of experience or common sense to ward off certain courses of action. Darwin, Murphy’s Law, and just dumb luck are always waiting to do battle. It can make for an interesting time learning about your mortality. If you survive.

I grew up watching old black and white comedies on local TV in Pittsburgh and Ohio, UHF stations 48 and 53. They played nothing on weekends but classics: Laurel and Hardy, Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello, Danny Kaye, and Jerry Lewis movies. These were my babysitters. My mentors.

These movies filled my head with old Vaudeville and comedy routines to such an extent that very few people got my jokes or references as a kid. I was odd even then. The day I entered the wave pool on vacation in Tampa would be the day I finally realized how different I really was.

A wave pool comprised of giant pistons attached to a movable wall on a hinge, all stationed at the far end of the pool ensconced behind wire fencing. This wall pushes the water, sort of like when sitting down too fast in the bathtub. Slosh. As the wall moves faster, the waves increase, and a good time is had by all. At least in theory.

I left my mom, dad, and the rest of our vacation party as soon as I got changed into my trunks. A wave pool existed in my mind at that point as just an abstract notion I had heard about on TV, not something I had ever seen in real life. Pennsylvania didn’t have them at the time, and ten-year-old me planned to make the most of it.

The pool went from an ankle high shallow to the deep end in a gentle slope toward the far off mechanism that would deliver the waves. The deep end, that’s where I wanted to be. I made my way through the shallows straight to where my feet no longer touched the bottom. I treaded water and looked about.

Hundreds of people lounged poolside, some dangled their feet along the edge, forty-five people in my immediate vicinity floated on rafts. All of them looked my way and smiled. They seemed nice.

A siren sounded off, and the smiles increased.

After a minute, the entire surface of the pool rose up in a gentle wave about four feet and I went with it! I floated back down.

The raft people smiled.

That wasn’t so bad, I thought.

Another wave came. And I rode it up and then down again.

For the first two or three minutes, the waves were nothing I couldn’t handle.

But as the waves grew in size and frequency my ability to ride them decreased. I no longer rode the waves with ease, but struggled to stay above the water. The raft people’s smiles grew more broad.

The waves passed right over my head with me still underwater. I swallowed a lot of water. At one point I did not resurface for several waves and caught my breath in big gasps and gulps.

This part was not going so well.

A part of me knew I was starting to drown, but I just didn’t think of it that way. The raft people were smiling after all. How could I drown in a pool surrounded by such cheerful people?

In many of the old comedies, if someone was drowning, they’d extend their hand and hold up a finger, counting off. The more fingers showing, the more distress the swimmer was in. A simple progression. Logical. It’s how Lou Costello behaved in Abbott and Costello, Lost in Alaska, so I knew that was the proper way to behave while drowning. Why they did this, I don’t know. At the time, being only ten, I just thought it was something someone does while drowning. And I wanted to do it properly.

So I extended my hand and stuck a finger in the air.

One.

My hand was above the water. I struggled, unable to reach the surface.

A wave passed.

I broke the surface, and filled my lungs with air before another wave approached.

The raft people still smiled.

And under I went.

Another finger up.

Two.

I should have panicked. I should have screamed my head off and thrashed about, but I had this strange detachment where everything slows down. The idea still pulsed through my head that there is a proper way to do things. Even drowning. And it would be rude to drown any other way.

I gulped in as much air as possible.

Smiles all around.

And down I went.

Three fingers extended out.

I gulped in more air.

The smiles became a little strained, eyebrows knit.

Another series of waves.

Down again.

Four fingers up.

The wave pool’s lifeguard stood at the edge of the pool with his head cocked to the side. He looked at me with an expression of both professional concern and a strange wonder. Obviously he admired my restraint and calm demeanor when facing my mortality at such a tender age. I was not an ordinary ten-year-old.

A wave crested over me, my hand barely at the surface.

Five fingers went up.

The lifeguard looked very confused now. I broke the surface and gasped for air. I looked at him and then looked to my five fingers held high. Was he dense?

“Do you need help?” he asked.

Help? Of course I needed help. Didn’t he see the hand with the fingers sticking up? I still refused to panic, more stunned and frustrated that no one, including the lifeguard, understood the finger thing. This man considered himself a professional?

Hello, drowning boy here!

I descended again, remaining submerged for a long time.

When I finally popped back up, I frantically shook my hand and nodded to the lifeguard. He blew his whistle. A siren blared throughout the water park, and he dove in with one of those torpedo floaty things.

The wave machine stopped.

A groan rumbled throughout the crowd. Faces turned and looked at the boy who had ruined their day. People pointed, shook their heads, and laughed.

The raft people no longer smiled.

The lifeguard dragged me the entire length of the pool, flopped me down near the shallow kiddie section like a sack of dead fish, looked me square in the eyes, shook his head, and walked off.

I stood up, brushed off the stares and jeers, and went in search of a snow-cone. My mother waited by the concession stand.

“So, how was the wave pool?”

“Meh, I gave it a five.” She looked at me strangely. I smiled to myself. She didn’t get it.