Summertime Catch-up Post

Summertime and the living is easy, especially when you go more than a week between blog postings. So consider this entry a catch-up for several themes that have rested comfortably within my grey matter …

Summer is a time when journalists resurrect tried and true story lines—where to find the best lobster rolls, the best books for the beach, the best roller coaster ride, and my personal favorite, how old codgers like me learn to swim. Here’s The New York Times version of the last topic: http://nyti.ms/2blnX03.

Swimming isn’t my problem. Staying afloat while treading water is. I can swim for as long as one breadth takes me. In a race with our 37 year old ex-lifeguard son Dan the other day, I was barely a half-body behind him when my lungs gave out midway across the length of the pool. I felt pretty good about my accomplishment considering it was my first time swimming in more than a year. 

I was bouyed (pun intended) by the knowledge I didn’t have to worry about treading water as the pool, at its deepest, was a mere five feet. I think all pool depths should be limited to five feet. It would encourage more non-swimming adults to get into the water with their children and grandchildren. Yes, five feet is too shallow to dive into, but that’s a small inconvenience when considering the positive effect families frolicking in the water would enjoy. And keep in mind that most lap pools are only about four feet deep. If it’s good enough for lap pool enthusiasts it should be good enough for all. 

By the way, I heard on NPR the other week that according to the Red Cross, 54% of Americans could not pass a swim test. Being in this majority is not one of my proud accomplishments. …

Baby Bombers: The young New York Yankees, nicknamed the Baby Bombers, especially Gary Sanchez, have made watching the team fun again. I know many of you aren’t interested in sports, so I won’t elaborate on why I am excited about the rest of this season and coming years of Yankee baseball. …

Are you tired of reading about Donald Trump? As a reader, so am I. As I writer, well, he does make it easy to come up with new story angles. The other day, for example, I was sorting through clothing to be donated and came across, I shamefully admit, a new, white dress shirt bearing the Donald J. Trump brand. It was still in its protective plastic packaging. I must have bought it more than 10 years ago, from Marshalls. Into the discard pile it went. (By the way, Macy’s recently jettisoned Trump-licensed shirts and ties from its merchandise mix after some of his inflammatory remarks.) …

Larry Wilmore no longer has the Nightly Show on Comedy Central to opine on Trump and other election and social news, but in case you missed one of his last commentaries, here’s one I agree with: “Donald Trump is an existential threat to America not because of Islamic terror or even Russia or Iran but rather because he undermines all of our values as a nation.” 

Ride 'em, Cowboy

Finley went on his first carousel ride Monday. Pretty common occurrence for many a three-year-old, you might say. But Finley is hardly your run-of-the-mill toddler. Naturally, I'm prejudiced, but I am honest to a fault, and one thing I can tell you about our grandson is that he's not the most daring of infants. 

In that regard, he's a chip-off-the-old-block. In other words, both his father and father’s father—me—were kinda wussy as kids. Dan couldn't abide carousels, swings, or any ride until around his seventh or eighth birthday, unlike Ellie who was a daredevil from the get-go. 

Gilda and I were pleasantly surprised by Finley’s courage. Allison reported on her blog (http://findingfinley.blogspot.com) that the little fellow really got into it, repeatedly yelling out, “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” as they circled around. Which begs the question, how much does genetics play in the social development of the young?

Of course I claim credit for any good traits Finley demonstrates. As for the, shall we say, soft traits, well ... I didn't ride a roller coaster until I was 35. I was in Orlando with several colleagues covering a discount store convention. We had a free afternoon so we went to Disney World.

Space Mountain. I had heard it was heart stopping (signs warned the faint of heart to stay off, which didn’t scare my 75-year-old uncle a few years earlier. He just took his false teeth out and had a wonderful time). I couldn't chicken out in front of my peers, so into the darkness of Space Mountain I went. Actually, it wasn't totally dark in my car. There were ten tiny white illuminations on the handle bar of the car, exactly where my knuckles grasped the cold steel. When the ride was over I resisted the suggestion we repeat the experience.

A year or two later Gilda and I took Dan and Ellie to Disney World. Now about seven years old, Dan decided he was ready for a roller coaster ride. First up was Thunder Mountain, a roller coaster themed after gold prospectors in the Old West. As she did with anything that possessed a degree of fright, Gilda “permitted me the pleasure” of taking Dan on the ride.

This being Dan’s first roller coaster ride, I was giving him some pointers, like never stand up and it's okay to scream, when the ride started before he was fully seated. I wasn't too worried as I presumed there would be plenty of time to sit him down during the ride to the top of the first steep drop. I didn't know, however, that the cars on Thunder Mountain begin at the top of the slope. We quickly swooshed downhill with Dan barely staying in the car. I grabbed hold of him and wouldn't let go for the next 90 seconds or so. I thought he'd be scared stiff but he was exhilarated. He wanted to go again but deferred when he realized he wanted to go on Space Mountain. 

As we walked slowly, ever so slowly, over to Space Mountain, I implored Gilda to take him. She demurred. As we got closer to Space Mountain, providence intervened. It started to drizzle ever so slightly. I saw my escape hatch. I told Dan Space Mountain didn't operate in the rain. Since he didn't know the ride was completely indoors, I got away with the ruse. It started raining even harder, so we wound up leaving the park, never again to be confronted with the Space Mountain challenge.

Ellie was too small to ride Space Mountain during that visit, but six years later she and Dan rode the circuit at Disney World Japan. While I was interviewing the head of a major Japanese retail conglomerate, Gilda and the kids went to Disney World Japan with a guide. Gilda told the guide she didn't have to accompany them on Space Mountain but she felt responsible. She came off the ride with paler skin, Gilda reported.