I was back in Columbus to see my parents with the kids again this weekend–my third time in my hometown this summer, including a quick trip for our anniversary at the end of July and the early July trip that I wrote about in my last post.
You can’t go home again, of course, but the visits have been good for everyone, I think.
This weekend, I figured out a few things, so I’m putting them down.
I dated a girl, Krista, in my senior year of high school, and I’ve not stopped mulling it over for twenty-five years. She often comes to mind when I’m home, and there’s nothing to be done about it now, since she was murdered about 10 years ago. I’m not going into all the details of that, or of our relationship in high school, which was hesitant, largely because of me. Suffice to say, that I realized this weekend that, at age 17 and 18, I was nowhere near mature enough to be a good partner to her, and it wouldn’t have worked out even if I had done better. I wonder if the ex-boyfriend who killed her and then himself had the same problem.
My mother, who is 71, took the kids and I to the public pool, and my father stayed home. Mom got in the water with us, which wouldn’t be a big deal for most people. When we arrived, she unhesitatingly took off her yoga pants and got in the water in her one-piece suit–no skirt attached, her large surgery scar on her back showing between the straps. I didn’t say anything, but in the van on the way home, she told me that she used to be self-conscious, but has realized that she spent many years letting that keep her out of the pool, even though she loved going in the water, and she’s done with that. Go, Mom! Maybe if she can withstand the stares of judgmental Upper Arlington moms at the pool, I can keep remembering to put myself and my music out there in a serious way (more on that in a future post).
Also at the pool (we went two evenings), my kids learned a lesson about money and justice. We arrived at about 7pm and planned to stay the two hours until close. The Hastings pool has a lap area and a diving well, but also a pair of waterslides, a lazy river, and a large shallow end perfect for Noah and Melia, who are still learning to swim. On Saturday night, we arrived at seven, paid the admission fee, and swam for the first hour until break was called. At the break, we were informed that the pool was closing for a private party–we weren’t told this when we entered, and they claimed there was a sign about it, but we hadn’t seen this, and it wasn’t evident as we left. No refund was offered, but my mother was told that we could go to one of the other city pools, but by the time we could have gotten there, there would have been little point. The kids were disappointed, of course, and I decided it was time for a lesson in society, so I told them this: “In our country, with enough money, you can do whatever you want, but that doesn’t always mean that what you want is right or good. Now you know how it feels to be kicked out of the public pool because someone was willing to pay to have it closed for a private party. Remember this feeling.” We also practiced nonviolent protest by using the restrooms and fully deflating our pool toys before leaving.
The last thing I learned this weekend was something I read in Ella Frances Sanders’ wonderful book Eating the Sun: Small Musings on a Vast Universe, which I would recommend to anyone as a collection of wonderful little vignettes combining fact and poetry in a Carl Sagan vein. This quotation from page 63 is going to be my apothegm and motto for the coming academic year:
Be one of the ones who doesn’t stumble about with eyes closed and hands in pockets.