The Neighborhood Splash Park Has a Story to Tell
“Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.” ―
This summer my two grandchildren (ages 4 and 8) and I are making weekly visits to the neighborhood splash park. It’s a small set of slides, fountains and water contraptions that are a perfect lure on a hot summer day. We are in the north Dallas area, so when I say hot, I mean hot! Has it rained at all since I moved up here a year ago? It certainly has in other parts of the state!
While the grandkids are running about in delight I’m sitting under the shade melting, reading, doling out snacks and people watching. Also, clockwatching. I count the minutes left in each heated visit. Neither of them, in fact none of the small children at the park ever walks. Running is the rule. Mine are tearing from the water feature out to the sand volleyball court then to the playground swings and slides. Back and forth, back and forth. No one ever stops to catch their breath. I need a nap just trying to keep track of each one. Almost all of the children are preschool and early elementary age.
Is this what life is like for many today? Living on the run, hardly coming up for air, missing out on what might really be going on and who we miss along the way.
“I believe someone made a grievous mistake when summer was created; no novitiate or god in their right mind would make a season akin to hell on purpose. Someone should be fired.” ―
Early in the morning, we’ve had a run to the donut store. Surely, that’s where some of the energy comes from. As the heat increases each week, we started going to the park when it opens at 9 AM. There’s a little breeze to chase off the flys and the heat hasn’t started to become so oppressive as it always does this time of year. This is all done for me as I sit and watch each week under the shade of a pavilion. The kids don’t notice what time of day we go. They are racing about in wet swimsuits and complaining about the AC in the car when we head home.
When we get older, we adjust our lives into comfortable routines. Mostly because of the uncertainty of aging. Sometimes, our need for comfort and certainty cause us to miss unexpected experiences of life. Like kids in wet swimsuits.
At 9 AM we are some of the first to arrive. The kids are on their own for a few minutes until the moms and their strollers, packed bags and squealing children begin to appear. There is a dad or two every now and then. The guy last week was very adept at changing diapers. Remind me not to sit at that end of the picnic table next time. I don’t feel like I stand out too much when I see a fellow grandparent trying to keep up. But the real heroes are the pale mothers herding their preschoolers into the jets of cool water. Sitting there under the pavilion it’s always interesting to eavesdrop on the rapid-fire chatter that goes on between these young moms. I think to myself that I’m not the only one who talks too much, like I’ve just been water boarded, ready to spill every detail when I see another adult.
Humans are created to be social. One benefit of being around others, even strangers, is the constant reminder that we’re not so strange after all.
One sweltering afternoon there appeared a self-appointed life-guard mom who marched over to let me know that my grandson was knocking into her small children as he swooshed down the waterslide. She had been doing an excellent job, no one had been swept out in a riptide thus far. Thank you for the notification, I smiled as she turned and trotted back to resolve another toddler crises in the making. My grandson, after some coaching, went back more carefully to the slide. I was proud of myself for not following my first instinct and asking the waterpark matron why her children had chosen to play at the bottom of the waterslide in the first place – setting themselves up for a collision experience. Cause and effect thinking so often escapes people.
Kids are so good at finding new friends to play with. But no one has gotten in the habit of asking for names. I’m amazed at the social skills of my own grandchildren (who are all being raised by introverts). Makes me think about the larger world we all live in. If you count it up, we are mostly among strangers all day long. Our service economy has put people everywhere in our daily path. Many on the phone. We were walking to the mailbox, and my grandson asked me why I was always talking to the strangers we passed. I gave a little pep talk about why it was important to speak with others and be friendly (I did not mention living as a shut-in as a probable cause).
It’s good to always be reminded that we are constantly on stage, and every little action is being observed.
“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like “What about lunch?” ―
On one of our latest trips to the water park, I bribed the grandkids, urging them to introduce themselves and learn the names of new friends they made while running around and their frenzied splashing. My grandson’s new friend that day just stared at me as I handed out grapes and oranges. Maybe he wasn’t used to being spoken to as a real person. But probably I was just a funny cartoon in a hat my own kids had grown used to. A smiling mom came up and told me how much she appreciated my grandson’s friendliness and asked if we’d be back next week. I didn’t realize how much a little feedback could mean.
My four-year-old granddaughter runs everywhere. She runs up, grabs a bite or swig and then tears back off to the water. As our visit drew to a close, she ran up, put a grape in her mouth then got a puzzled look on her face, twirled quickly and rushed off only to fly back seconds later to tell me with a triumphant smile that her new friend was named Caroline. A mission driven girl. I looked over at her as we were packing up to leave. She was getting a warm embrace from a soggy triplet who told his mom he met a new friend to invite to his birthday. She smiled at me over his shoulder.
Maybe everyone really does need a little more friendship, a kind word on the way to the mailbox?
“Summertime is always the best of what might be.” ―