When we lived in California, there were community pools everywhere. Mom would take us nearly everyday in the summer, and we would play all day in the pool. Our favorite one was, well, we called it "Cripple Creek." (which I now realize is completely wrong and utterly rude, but, come on, I was a kid) It was a pool with adjustments for the handicapped. For example, they had a ramp going into the pool, along with stairs. We loved playing on the ramp. I forget the real name of it, something with a 'W' or maybe a 'P'? I think it was sort of a long name. That pool was deep, too.
Also, we lived next to the ocean. Mind you, not right on the ocean, we had to drive a bit. So on rarer occasions, (too rare, I think. It really wasn't that far) we would drive down to the ocean for a swim. Now that I think of it, I can't really remember going to the beach any time other than for the corn roast.
Oh the corn roast. The corn roast was a church event, usually held a short few days after Independence Day. Let me describe it to you. Our family would pack into the car, with all our swimming gear and all that, we would pick up some KFC, always KFC, and drive to the beach. I remember, there was always a skywriting plane writing some couples initials in a heart or something. Always. And there were always huge fluffy cotton-ball clouds that would spur discussions between us kids about how much we wanted to flop onto them.
When we got to the corn roast, we would spread our towels out and start eating our KFC. Then, we would go play in the ocean until the corn was ready. We would find our friends from church and play around with them. Once, my brother got stung by a jellyfish during this time. Later, we would grab some of the corn and feast. It was delicious. Later still, we would gather around one of the big fire pits and roast marshmallows. There were so many kids there that you could really only roast one marshmallow, and, since you had to fight and fight hard for a good roasting spot, it usually wasn't that well-roasted. When night fell, we would head home, and wait for next year's corn roast.
As you can see, I grew up swimming. (And I even forgot to mention Lake Powell and Lake Havasu.) Now, onto the sad part. This summer, I put on my bathing suit a grand total of 6 times. Six! Let me tell you why that number is so small. First of all, all of June was cloudy and rainy. Second of all, when your lake freezes over in the winter, you have to wait until it warms up to a reasonable temperature, and it usually doesn't ever warm up to a reasonably warm temperature. So the only thing the lake is good for is a) tubing and boating, b) cooling off after laying out. My dad took the boat in the divorce, so there goes option a, and I absolutely hate laying out. Phlewww, whoops that was the sound of option b dying. Please read the following dialogue.
Sister: Hey come to the beach with us.
Me: No, the beach is boring.
Sister's friend: Please come! it will be so much fun!
Me: No, all you do is lay out, and that's boring.
Sister's friend: I love swimming, I'm gonna swim a lot!
(the conversation continues in this fashion until I either relent or they get bored and leave. In this demonstration I will relent.)
at the beach
*the group spreads out towels, lays down*
*I read book, get excruciatingly bored and hot*
Me: Let's go swimming.
Them: In a bit.
*time passes*
*the group jumps in the water, plays around for 5 minutes, gets back out*
*scene repeats until we finally leave*
That's why I try to avoid going to the beach. Excuse me, the lake shore. It is torture.
I think I realized the exact reason why I don't swim so much any more. Other than the aforementioned ones. See, my mom would lay out all the time. And I was always the last one to leave the pool, so that means that as a kid, I had no trouble entertaining only myself. Now, it would look odd if I were playing the same games as when I was younger. So there's nothing for me to do except float around and stuff. Which is kinda boring. Mystery solved.
aw poor Bonnie :(
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