I catch a fair amount of television without the benefit of sound. In the morning I spend an hour plus on the treadmill, my attention occasionally on the bank of TVs turned to this channel or that… no sound except for those cardio types with earphones who want the added distraction of following the dialogue.
In the evening I am often at my “second office” at Ash Creek Saloon to watch the last couple of innings of the Yankee game. Also no sound. To be honest, no great disadvantage here. I don’t need a “play by play” man tell me that Gary Sheffield hit a screaming line drive into the left field seats for a homerun. The score then flashed up on the screen. Who needs sound?
I will say this… occasionally I will see a commercial that seems amusing and I wish I could get the script, because the action is certainly funny.
Yesterday, or maybe it was the day before, I saw an ad that caught my attention, although it wasn’t particularly funny. It was for Jaguars (don’t you love the way the English pronounce the word…Jag-you-war… as if that justifies the cost). The part of the ad that made me smile had nothing to so with the car, or the computer created graphic of a jaguar racing thru the scene (in fact I thought it was a cheetah, and only learned it was jaguar at the end of the ad when the name of the auto and it’s distinctive logo appeared on the screen).
What made me smile was the scene of a father waist deep in a pool as his little boy jumped from the side of the pool into his awaiting arms.
Yes, that 4 second scene made me smile. I am old enough to remember being the father… and young enough to remember being the son.
Perhaps the scene would not have had the same effect if I had seen it, say in November or March. But with a summer day as a backdrop, the memories are all too clear… as clear as “blue” pool water.
When I was a kid we were members of two Clubs. Racebrook for golf and food. Woodbridge for swimming (although Dad would sometimes play there, too. I can never recall eating there). On Sundays Mom would take me over to Woodbridge for a day of swimming and sun. Dad would play golf over at Racebrook and after his round of golf, a shower and lunch he would drive the MG over to join us at Woodbridge.
I can remember looking for the MG to drive by thru the slats of the six foot high wooden fence. Gary Moss and I would alternate between the water, our towels (when our mothers would pull us out of the water because our lips were turning blue) and the Snack Bar… we would be indulged by a sinful concoction called an “iced chocolate”.
Finally Dad would appear. He would kiss my Mom and I would hurry him to change into his suit. Then he would stand in the shallow end and I would leap from the side of the pool into his arms. It wasn’t just any jump. My knees would be bent, arms thrust to the back, perhaps imitating my early impression of how racers dove into the water, and then in an instant I would hurl my self into the water. He would put me back to the side of the pool, and we would repeat the drill, only this time he would inch himself further back; until eventually my leaps would take me mostly into the water and less into him.
I think I could have kept it up all afternoon; but he would claim that he was exhausted, or perhaps Mom would have come to the side of the pool for the “lips inspection”… yes, they were blue… time to get out of the water; but only with the promise of one more session before it was time to go home.
And years later I stood waist deep at the pool of the JCC waiting for Zack to jump into my arms. Zack was very cautious about stuff. By the time he reached “jumping into the water” age, there was a new “invention” that had come into play: swimmies. Inflated plastic rings that would fit around small arms. Zack could use swimmies at the pool at our Sunrise Condo; but to my recollection, they were prohibited from use at the JCC.
Zack had to be coaxed to take the leap without the security of the swimmies.
But the posture I can well recall… knees slightly bent, hands to the rear ready to add momentum with a forward thrust, toes curled at the edge of the pool for better grip… and then the launch into my arms. And yes, I did that when I was his age, too. I would laugh, bring him back to the side of the deck, help him up… and then inch back to ready myself for the next jump.
I can well recall both times… sun in the sky, joyous days of summer when there was nothing that could possibly interrupt the moment.
Jaguars, I could care less about. But the joy of being a Father and a son are too special… especially on a summer’s day.