I think it was summer vacation after second grade when my babysitter introduced me to General Hospital and I stopped watching Rocky & Bullwinkle in favor of a full hour of sudsy fun with Rick Springfield and the rest of the Port Charles gang.
Our routine during that summer included riding bikes down to the pool at our condo complex and heading home for lunch and the soaps before playing in the front yard until my mom came home from work.
I remember being a champion bike rider and a fearless roller skater (have never really mastered the blades) and kind of a fearful little swimmer. There were a couple of reasons — other than my love for Luke + Laura — that kept me timid in the water.
- I’m super pale. Yep, the kids teased me mercifully and called me Casper after the ghost. I spent YEARS afraid of wearing shorts and I’m still self-conscious in a swimsuit.
- I can’t dive. I still can’t. Never learned. Always afraid of getting water up my nose.
- I burn easily and no matter how hard my mom (my sitter, my now-husband, or myself…) tried, we’d always miss a spot. Like my butt cheek and I couldn’t sit comfortably for a week, or that spot behind my knee, or the part of my hair. Ouch. See #1.
But just like my secret loathing of mango, I don’t want my boys to inherit a distaste for swimming pools and oceans. So we all suit up in our requisite swim diapers and super suits (me in a rashguard and them looking like super heroes) and water hats and go for it!