Pool Party

Everyday life eventually fades into past memories. Situations that preoccupied me for hours on end only a few weeks ago, no longer register in my daily life. I wonder if each twist and turn of this journey will hold true to that belief?

Days blend into weeks. Weeks accumulate into months. Months huddle up to form seasons. Seasons make up the year. Years get categorized into periods of life. Eventually all I remember are benchmarks of those years.

I've been searching my thoughts. Sifting for life's little moments that Dad did this year. I'm afraid to loose them. I want to get them down before I do. My Dad is many things, goofy he's not. For that reason alone this memory I will always hold.

Fish Creek is many things to many people. Sometimes one of those things just happens to be boring. Everything you set out to do is done, and all there is left to do is wait for dinner. Usually, on nice days you locate the sunscreen, grab the pool key, and head on out. Tracy, the kids, and I did just that.

Tracy tried to read her magazine as Cru sat in her lap attempting to make confetti out of it. Jersey had her hair pulled back in a high ponytail in order to have perfect vision of her surroundings. No lifeguard needed for her, unless it's possible to drown your toe. Piper, sporting a Disney two piece, bobbed up and down on the stairs as if she was on a teeter-taughter. There was still an abundance of late afternoon sun. The tall pine and birch trees could only wait for the sun to come to them. Until then, it was spf 30for all of us.

I was worn out from the late night drive and bad vacation sleep. Normally I would be catapulting the girls high into the air to see how loud they would scream. Other times, I would submarine up to them and unexpectedly tickle their toes. Today, I just didn't have it in me.

"PAPA Berrrrrnie...PAPA Berrrrrnie," shouted Piper, my spring breaker in training. "papa? Paaapa? PAPA!" chimmed Jersey. "I thought maybe you could use a grandpa in the pool," said Dad.

He, like his granddaughter, is a toe dipper in every way as he enters a pool. He always proceeds using the stairs, as if reluctant to make a splash. Once the lower half of his body as acclimated to the water temperature he falls backward. It reminds me of a slow motion Nestea plunge. He returns to the top, blowing like a whale. Both hands always outline his face similar to a Muslim praying. He rubs the water off his cheeks like a child putting on his dad's aftershave. Last he uses his hands to squeegee his remaining hair dry. Every time. No exceptions. Set your watch to it.

On that lazy July afternoon he turned a dull day at the pool into a memory. The girls kicked and splashed. He turned them into motorboats and mermaids. They hung on him like a cheap suit. The girls loved it all. I did too. With all three girls now relaxing in the pools new furniture I was sure he would head back home.

Instead he grabbed Cru and eased him around the calm pool.

"WWWWEEEEEeeeeeee...WWWWEEEEEEeeeee...WWWWEEEEEeeeeee," he sang to Cru as he guided him through an imaginary pool obstacle course. Cru laughed and laughed as he hugged him for extra comfort.

A little moment that time otherwise would erase. Not now though, I wont let it.

Like a great artist he left every kid wanting just a bit more. Remember, I too am a kid.