It’s been years since I swam in the Gulf. And I mean really jogged into the surf, hurled myself into the breakers, and let other, much younger swimmers pee on me.
At least that’s exactly what the little swimmer next to me was doing. We were both swimming in the same crystal-blue Gulf water, just off the coast of Fort Pickens, not more than nine feet from each other’s wake. The boy was splashing and laughing. Then, the boy shouted to his mom with the same urgency often reserved for the threat of nuclear war: “Mom! I have to pee!”
His mother, who was on shore, hollered back, “Just pee in the water!”
The boy glanced at me briefly. We locked eyes for a moment. The boy’s facial muscles clenched. And finally, a cleansing look of urethral relief washed over his face.
“Okay!” he shouted. “All better!”
I hurriedly swam away, doing a violent rendition of the freestyle, achieving speeds akin to those of Michael Phelps.
But the kid sort of followed me. And whenever the boy wasn’t tee-teeing on innocent
bystanders, he was usually splashing around and laughing.
Sometimes he’d engage in various acts of gymnastics, or maybe it was some kind of insane yoga, whereupon he’d start yelling: “Look, Mom! I’m doing it!”
He yelled this over and over again.
“Look! Mom! I’m doing it!”
Why is it that kids who swim always yell, “Look! I’m doing it!”? And why do they yell this phrase approximately four million times? What exactly are they “doing”? And more importantly, why does this require everyone to “look”?
But getting back to my beach story.
So, I was on the beach because I was with my sister and my wife. We met at…
