I get it. I’d be mad, too. When our kids got in the pool, you thought they’d just swim around and tire themselves out in the heat and sun. We agreed on a strategy of attrition. Wear the kids down while we conserve energy so we can enjoy vacation nights. It was a reasonable idea, but there is no such thing as reason when a dad gets in the pool.
I see a small kid in the water, and it’s Toss City, USA, baby. They’re going airborne. T-minus now, Houston. Cannonball coming. How high? Call the FAA. Sounds ambitious? I’m a dad in a pool. I know no earthly limits.
Wish I could explain it. If you’re a kid within arm’s reach, I’m pulling you up and arcing you toward the heavens and also the 4-foot-section. I can’t control it. It can’t be controlled. The look of joy and fear in a child’s eyes when they’re two feet higher than they thought they’d be – it’s my everything.
As it was to my father and all through the generations.
I should stop. I really should pause to consider what I am doing. But the kids come back for more. We’re all addicted to the thrill. No longer conscious beings responsible for our own actions. We’re monkey-brained adrenaline-seekers looking for that next dopamine hit. Higher. Farther. Splashier. DO IT AGAIN, DAD. DO. IT. AGAIN.
* whispers though none of the kids get the reference *
I’m your huckleberry.
That same guy who barely had enough energy to lift the giant suitcase out of the trunk this morning is straight-up chucking 60-pound kids hither and yon. I don’t know where this power comes from, this DAD POOL STRENGTH. It’s the most powerful force in the universe. It defies explanation. I’m not in good shape. I work in an office. I’m shaped like Grimace. I do not even lift, bro. But I can summon the power of 100 Olympic power lifters when it comes to the semi-reckless disregard of child safety. If I could contain this strength, I would be formidable, but it cannot be contained. It’s a power that only flows through dads when they are in pools.
Did I toss the boy too high? I guess I need to understand how you define “too high”? You see him flailing his arms as a sign of distress. I see him attempting to soar upwards into the pale blue yonder. Knowledge requires perspective.
And when those other kids – those kids who are not ours – when they beg me with their pleading pool orphan eyes to toss them, is that not a seal of approval? Their parents are on their phones watching videos of dads throwing kids around pools. I am here. I toss high. I toss deep. I pound my chest. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!
MORE, the children cry.
The lifeguard is not entertained. But I am not entertained by the lifeguard. He sits judgmentally atop a platform from which we could be doing sweet jumps. A waste. Everyone jumps off the lifeguard chair at some point. Better for the kids to do it while dad is there to guide them with wisdom than as teenagers unsupervised at night. I am the responsible one here.
Inevitably, the physical limitation of being a mere mortal intrudes upon the godlike act of freeing my child from the surly bonds of earth. I tire. I grow weary. But not the children. My life force is transferred to theirs. They are energized. They obtain new life. Our plans to draw them out and run them down like Washington against the British are foiled. It was I who was the British all along. For this, I am sorry, my dear.
But I can make it up to you.
Yes.
Come here.
Yes.
See.
OK, one more.
This is everything!
Spot on from beginning to end.