In our house, nothing says summer like a pool party. In fact, it’s a well-known Sontag Family rule that we cannot even mention the word “summer” until after Junior’s pool party.
Now personally, I don’t mind him having a pool party. I mean, it’s hot, it’s summer, why not have a pool party? Well, I’ll tell you why not. It’s because of the elevated testosterone levels at the party. Oh sure, there were two girls invited – but can you blame them for not attending? I don’t. Saturday’s party was like a testosterone fiesta. And I can’t tell you enough how different an all-boy party is from a two-gender party.
First we have a trail of boys walking through the house. Now I don’t know if you have boys, know boys or just have observed this particular species in their native habitat, but boys tend to lose things. A walk from my front door, through the living room, family room and finally out the sliding glass door should be a piece of cake. Unfortunately, for a boy this is a walk through the Land of Lost Swimming Gear.
Oh, sure he starts out at the door OK. Flip-flops on his feet, towel around his neck trailing him like a Superman cape, and his goggles somewhere on his arm. But in the two rooms he has to pass through something happens. It’s something I cannot explain. But somehow, this fully dressed boy ends up at the back door without a towel, shoes, shirt or goggles. I don’t know why. I can only thank God that he is still wearing his swimsuit when he reaches the back door.
Then they all get in the pool. Now a female will test the water with her toe. She will put her goggles on. And then she will descend the steps into the pool, where she will begin to swim. A boy waits until another person is in the pool and then does the biggest cannonball possible right next to the other person.
And then there are the water gun fights. You see, for males, it’s not enough to be in the water. They have to use the water as a weapon. And for that, you need water guns. Now it’s an unfortunate fact of life that no two water guns are alike. Some water guns are bigger than others. And some don’t shoot as well as others. And, in yet another of life’s inequities, it’s really not how well you use the water gun – it’s how big the stream of water that squirts out of it that counts.
Of course, after about three hours of watching boys run around the pool, you realize why there is a P in the word pool. That’s because not one of them got out to do that in the three hours they’ve been partying in the pool. Or the “ool,” which is what I think it was before the party. Or is that “arty?”
Anyway, every single boy was able to get out of the pool, eat cheeseburgers, get back in the pool, get out again and eat brownies and ice cream, get back in, get out again and eat watermelon and get back in again all without once using the restroom.
Now I figure either these kids have bladders of steel – or the pool had better get a good dose of Shock Treatment the minute they all leave. And I’m not betting on the bladders of steel. That’s because I’ve watched the water change. I’m not kidding. The water was crystal clear when the boys arrived. Three hours later, it was cloudy. Coincidence? I think not.
And you don’t even want to know about the food breaks. Look, for most people – and by that I mean women – proper conversation around the lunch table is fashion or kids or whatever. For ‘tween boys the conversation is all about food and passing gas. Actually, it’s mainly about passing gas.
Now I can ignore this until we get to the demonstration portion of the afternoon. At that point, I have to leave. Although I am strangely fascinated that the males of our species can actually pass gas on command. Not many women can – or want to – do that.
By the time the pool party is over, I can say summer. Because I know that for the next few months, there will not be more than three or four kids at a time in my ool – and it will be “P” free.
