Everything Summer is in Youth

It was Lake Laurie Campground on a week long family trip during an early 1980's summer.

In the middle of this home away from paradise was a lake. In the middle of this lake was a dock. On this dock was where a lifeguard sat. Perched on an 8 foot aluminum and wood bench, where he or she would watch over everyone swimming.

Even at that age, it didn’t make sense to me. The water was a dark combination of green and brown. I guess New Jerseys way to use algae and mud to cool off. I remember thinking If someone went under, good luck to the person on the hero water throne to find them. They weren’t saving anyone’s life. It was deep. Real deep.

Probably not that deep. I was 12 or so.

On this dock was a diving board. Yes, a diving board. This was right before the pussyfication of America, before they were all removed from every pool and lake because some mental simpletons hit their precious heads. A few cracked noggins and a little water in the lungs stole the fun of flips and cannonballs from all of us. (Flips and cannonballs from the side of pools or on the shoulders of someone at a beach will never, ever replace the height and time a diving board granted you. This is a fact)

Moving on…

I was swimming around with a girl the same age as me I had become friends with. We met on the first day I got to the campground in the arcade. The arcade was next to the Welcome and Check In center. While my Dad was picking the campsite and my Mom getting $10 worth of change to make daily payphone calls back to Brooklyn, all us kids ran to the arcade for the Pinball, Skeeball, Table Tennis, Asteroids and every other game from that period of perfection.

As I looked around in awe at all the machines, I wondered why anyone would need a campsite?? Let me sleep right over there. Behind Space Invaders. I’ll be fine.

I was locked in concentration while playing some sort of old timey 1970's combination pinball/baseball game. No flippers, no steel ball, no bells and whistles. Just one button to make the plastic batter swing when the wooden ball shot out of a hole, which was recessed into the glove of a badly painted pitcher. You could either miss it, or hit it into other holes marked “Single”, “Double”, “Triple”, “Home Run” or “Foul”.

I’m getting off track here. Back to my friend.

I’ve since forgotten her name. Maybe. Sometimes I think it was Mackenzie or Chrissy or some other summer name. It very well could have been either. Most likely it’s just my mind placing a special name that helps keep that summer close to me.

She came up to me while I was playing “PinBatter” (I gave it that name, thank you) and she asked how to play. I remember saying, without looking at her, “You push this when he pitches.”

“Then what?”

Got distracted.

The painted man pitched. The plastic man struck out. Game over.

Ugh. Thanks stranger.

I crawled down from the stool I was sitting on and gave her a “Why’d ya do that?” look.

She said “Hi”. I said “Hi.”

She opened her hand, full of quarters and asked if I wanted to play air hockey.

Well, that was it. I wasn’t mad anymore.

This story is getting boring. Let’s leave this arcade and continue with the August swamp with the diving board…

“Wanna jump off?” I turned and saw she was asking from the side of the ladder leading up to the dock.

“Yes!! Let’s go!”

We joined the other kids in line. and one by one, we jumped, dove, spun, flipped, waved and held our noses as we sprung through the air between the heat, horseflies and mosquitos.

This went on. Day after day for hours. Until the multiple whistle chirps signifying the lake was closed for swimming. The lifeguards would stand on the dock and the shore, blowing their whistles and waving their arms until the last kid walked out of the lake and past them.

In the late afternoon, on the day before vacation was over, we all headed down to the lake. Towels, flip flops, useless snorkel mask.

All energy and smiles.

On the walk, I noticed my swim shorts felt a little loose. When I did a little covert look, I noticed the tie string was gone. It had disappeared into the small slits on the inside of the waistband. The place where the string could only be fixed by a Mom and her amazing mysterious skills of shorts shoelace retrieval.

No biggie. They were tight enough, even if I had to pull them up a little bit every tenth step walking, or third step running. Or one jump over something.

Kept heading to the lake.

She and I always walked together on the path to the lake. At that age, you don’t realize how special those vacations are. The Disney movies outside, the fireplaces, the talent shows, running from a rain shower at night, the sound of the tent zipper in the morning, eating cereal from small boxes, carving trees. Holding a tree branch in the blue flame till the tip of it turned red, then waving it fast as you made a fading orange circle in the air.

You know it’s fun. You know there’s no school. You know it’s not Brooklyn. You know all this.

You will never know how some things you do at that age will still be with you today. The time spent with Moms, Dads, brothers, sisters, friends and the Mackenzie Chrissy’s.

No matter how poetic or selective the visions of this week have become, I’m thankful for how they still live within me. This story is true. What makes them real is me. I’m here now, remembering. It all happened. Just as I’ve written it. Just as you read it.

It was after 7pm, but still summer evening bright. We both had time for a few more jumps before we all went back to our sites for the last campground dinner, fire and sleep.

We heard the whistle chirps start. We turned towards each other with a “ONE MORE!” look and climbed up the ladder. She ran off the diving board and I swore she spun around 5 times in the air, in my mind it was complete slow motion, with the sun behind the trees, her blonde ponytail spinning with a trail of water falling off the end of it, making a perfect and angelic water halo.

That I remember the most.

I ran as fast as I could and jumped as impressively high as I could, into a dive formation. I was in the air for what seemed like 7–9 minutes. I hit the water perfect. Hands first, head down, at an incredible speed and angle.

Then it happened.

When I hit the water, my shorts shot down my legs and I last felt those Ocean Pacifics rip right past my ankles and. into the darkness of the Laurie Muck.

Instant Panic.

I flailed around with my arms, reaching everywhere, tried opening my eyes, that was pointless. Swam towards where they might be.

Nothing.

They were gone. I was naked.

My life was over.

With no more breath for searching, and at the risk of drowning, I surfaced. We were the last ones in the lake and the lifeguards were chirping and waving at me like like a great white was coming. The only thing great and white in that lake was my ass. Mackenzie Chrissy was already on the sand, wrapped in a towel, waiting for me for the walk back. All the other kids and families were at the beach drying off and collecting their things. Was it possible everyone at this campground was at the lake? Yes. It was very possible and it was still very bright out.

“FUUUUCCCKKKK!!!”

There it was.

First time I ever said it out loud. I know it’s not a Christian thing to say, but I’m sure even God understood and said “ah, poor fuckin’ kid” I know we were all given free will, but you made this lake after all. Help me out.

I didn’t know what to do. That awful word seemed like the right noise for my mouth to make. I just floated for a few seconds.

“Get to shore! I have a date with my girlfriend.”

What? Who?

I turned around in the water and looked up. It was the dock lifeguard.

I didn’t know what to say.

“I, I.. can’t yet. “

“She’s waiting for you, dirt mouth”

DirtMouth??

“What?” Is all I could manage to say.

“That girl, on the beach… shes waiting for you… She like you dude…and watch your mouth, you’re too young to say those words.”

Then I saw. He had my shorts. He found them floating on the other side of the dock. He knew exactly what was happening.

“One day you’re gonna love to lose your shorts and dive into something else. Trust me, DirtMouth”

He actually said that to me with a crazy laugh as he threw my trunks at me. At that age I had no idea what he meant, but today, I can’t help but laugh at that brilliant line.

I put them on, I said thanks and started to swim towards the shore and towards her.

She never knew what had happened. We walked back, stopped at Oak Lane, said our goodbyes and our see you laters.

Never saw her again. I believe there is a picture of us somewhere. When I find it. I’ll put it here. Or maybe I won’t look for it. One real picture can sometimes change the countless ones your mind has created over decades.

I think of that week everytime a new summer starts.

Whenever I do, I think how, in a sense, that goofy lifeguard really did save a a boys life in that green and brown lake. At that age, yikes, that woulda been a tough one to forget.

Unlike her name.