Last one in...

‘Tis the season for laughter, yelps and squeals. ‘Tis the season for echoes of “Marco Polo” and belly dives into the community pool by the neighborhood children. ‘Tis the season for remembering when we were young, and our children were young, and others who were not so young (and those without children) weren’t tolerant of the laughter and yelps and squeals that echoed off the chlorine-saturated water…resonating with gleeful abandon the uninhibited joy that only those so young can experience on a hot August afternoon.

It’s all about tolerance and understanding. There wasn’t much of either at my community pool the other day. Youngsters playing in the pool inadvertently splashed my friend and me. I laughed at their antics, but my friend…not so much. She got up in a huff, threw a few dirty glances and left. It seems that she didn’t want to get wet. Yet she was sitting and reading poolside. How does the saying go? If you don’t want to get burned, stay away from the fire? I say, “If you don’t want to get wet, stay away from the pool.”

I think this philosophy works for most anything. Sure, you can lead a safe, sheltered and unmolested life with everything predictable and in its place. Or you can go with the flow and live, and let live. I opt for the latter. I am a huge proponent of your rights are your rights, but only if they don’t infringe upon the rights of others. I don’t think this applies to sitting poolside and expecting not to get wet—expecting others not to enjoy themselves because you have high and dry expectations.

I believe that no matter how old you are—if you are still able to—then an occasional belly flop into the pool is therapeutic. I believe that the happy squeals of youth are our future. I believe that children need tolerance in which to find their wings and soar…to heights that are limitless, not heights that are structured and inhibited by rigid and unrealistic expectations. Children should be heard and seen. How else can we teach them? How else can we learn from them?

Perhaps I am an anomaly. Perhaps I just don’t like double standards. I have heard many older people complain about neighborhood children and their actions, only to watch these same older people throw their so-called standards to the wind when their grandchildren come to visit.

There are communities where children are prohibited for a reason. This is ideal for those who don’t want to be—or shouldn’t be—bothered with the inevitable disruption of children. Not me. Even if I live to see 80, you’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming away from the pool—and away from those yelps, squeals and high-pitched screams that echo off the chlorine-saturated water. And yes, I realize that there are many people in senior communities who would love to hear the squeals and yelps of children, but haven’t a choice. I refer only to the unrelenting Mr. Wilsons here…not the compassionate and understanding Mrs. Wilsons. I write of those who have grown intolerant only for the sake of being intolerant. And no…the children I write of are not the “menaces,” although I know they are out there. I write of the children who are generally well-behaved.

Maybe I am guilty of wearing rose-colored glasses. It is possible that I might change my attitude as I grow older. Maybe my point of view is as judgmental as the intolerant Mr. Wilsons in my hood. But, maybe, just maybe, I have a few more belly flops in me—and I plan to enjoy every single one of them. So, if you don’t want to get wet, please take my advice and stay away from the pool. Nobody enjoys a wet beach towel…it’s kind of like a wet blanket.

So here’s to the children. Let them soar to new heights…above intolerance and always respectful of the rights of others. Let us teach them well. Let us give them room to spread their wings. Let us get our hair wet occasionally and not complain. More importantly, let us execute just one more enthusiastic belly flop. Last one in is a rotten egg!