Swimming

If someone gave me three wishes, I think I would ask for the ability to relive an ordinary day from my childhood. Not because I want to go back and change my destiny, but for the simple pleasure of enjoying life as only a child can.

Growing up, there was nothing like a full day swimming at our local pool. Mom would carefully pack the picnic basket; fill the cooler with ice and our dinner and then pile the six of us in the wood side-paneled Caprice Classic.

Mom was smart- a little advance planning, and her touch of aggravation over our hyper jumping off the sofa, was worth the hours she could spend crocheting or reading a novel without a constant barrage of bored kids driving her crazy.

Upon arriving our first task was to stake a claim on one of the shaded picnic tables under the tall trees near the playground where toddlers played in the sandbox. Mom would spread the table cloth and place our basket and cooler nearby to mark our the table as ours.

Then we trudged up the hill, past the snack bar with its tantalizing smells of french fries and hotdogs sizzling on the grill. My brothers separated from us at the entrance to the dressing rooms and we would emerge from the murky light to be momentarily blinded by the dazzling sun reflecting off the water.

A whiff of chlorine can take me back to those long days of jumping around in the water, playing games, sliding down the slides, or jumping off the diving boards.

Dinner never tasted as good as it did cooked on the little grill.

We sat wrapped in our towels, drinking kool-aid as we waited for our hamburger or hotdog to be served on a white paper plate.

We impatiently waited the required 30 minutes for our food to digest before we were allowed to swim until the lights under the water came on and the pool closed for the evening. We moved slowly back up to the parking lot, legs tired and eyes burning from the chlorine. We were quiet and sleepy on the ride home.

I wish I could spend a perfect day at the pool with my family again.