“Don’t raise your voice,” she said. “If I have to say this again Alex, you will have to go to your room for half an hour with no music, no computer and no games!”
I shudder… that sounds like condemning the poor kid to Hell… maybe worse!
Alex, perhaps from past experience sees thru the vacancy of this threat and continues to splash water on his brother. “Quit it Alex! Mom! Tell Alex to quit it!” This was Nick.
“Alex! Stop it now or it will be an hour in your room… you’re disturbing that man!”
That man was me.
I will admit that the boys’ voices had an irritating high pitched quality that knifed thru the calm morning air. But I was certainly not disturbed. I was more off put by the Mother’s attempt at discipline. Maybe she thought there was a prohibition against shrill voices… You know, that sign with the pool regulations: No glass receptacles, No running, No diving, No laughing, No shrill voices (thank God peeing in the pool wasn’t on the “no” list).
The pool at Woodbury Hills is a quiet place. A dozen or so chaise lounges, three umbrellas, two tables with chairs. The pool area is surrounded by a combination of pine, shade trees and well manicured bushes. A tennis court set to one side. You can hear the birds chirping away, the hum of a solitary plane over head and on this morn the shrill voices of Alex and Nick.
I had gone to the pool to read some M.F.K. Fisher and to work on my base tan. Basically, to de-stress from what had been a stressful work week in a connection of several stressful work weeks.
Perhaps it was the young boys’ misfortune that there were no other shrill voices to blend with their own. No other giggles, no other laughter, no other plaintiff pleas for help. So in contrast to the peaceful setting of this pool, their loud behavior had the appearance of impropriety.
I am reading Fisher’s An Alphabet for Gourmets, I turn to the chapter “B is for Bachelors,” and think, “I wish there were 10 more kids in the pool.” Now the residents of Woodbury Hill might disapprove; but a pool is the place for hoots and hollers.
I think back to being a kid at Woodbridge Country Club. Of swimming and carrying on with Gary Moss. Of jumping from pool side into my Father’s waiting arms… one of many kids doing the same thing with their Fathers. I am sure that our voices could be heard from the neighboring road… our voices, and the birds… and the crickets & cicadas. This was summer to me.
And years later, when we would take our kids to the Jewish Community Center’s pool (50 yards from a part of Long Island Sound that so few swam in), the sounds of summer continued. The splashing, the “Lookit me’s”, the shouting and the parental threats, too. It was all good.
There was a splendid multi generational quality to those pools. Moms, Dads, the Kids & Grandparents. At the JCC it was easy to separate the “happy Grandparents” from the “crotchety Grandparents.” The crotchety ones were unhappy about being bumped into by a seven year old playing “Marco Polo.” The happy Grandparents would simply laugh and continue their swim to the deep end.
There is no deep end to escape to at Woodbury Hill. A thrown tennis ball comes uncomfortably close to me… part of an invented game Alex and Nick have devised. I applaud their creative skill. Invented games are so much better than established ones. I wonder what punishment the Mother has planned for this malfeasance. I was wrong. No threat this time… “Alex, play your game at the other end, away from the man.”
The man? Do I really look the corporate type?
The serenity of this setting might have been lost… if that’s what you came looking for. Me? As I say, I was there to hit some Fisher and grab some “rays”. And I got some sounds of summer as a bonus. Hey, you can’t beat that.