In Praise of Muddy (and Algae-filled) Waters
I was fortunate to grow up in a town that had seven man-made lakes with intractably muddy and grungy algae-green bottoms. Some people dream of crystal clear waters where they can see down to a sandy bottom 100 feet below. Oh, what sad, diminished lives they lead.
As a kid, the opaque lakes I swam in were pure magic. The impenetrably dark lakes bequeathed even the most conspicuous of kids with the power of invisibility. If we played, “Marco Polo” – a form of hide and seek that required the “predator” to keep eyes closed and detect “prey” by sound only, we never worried the predator would cheat by peeking. Because as soon as prey responded, “Polo,” to the predator’s shouted, “Marco,” prey could quickly vanish into the inky black waters. The only hope of catching the fleeing prey was for the predator to correctly guess at their direction and depth.
Another of our favorite games was “Popsicle Stick,” which we played from a small dock in the middle of either of the two lakes publicly available for swimming. One intrepid player would dive off the dock into the murky water and swim to the bottom – usually no more than 10 feet downward. He or she would then plant the Popsicle stick in the slimy growth below. The diver quickly swam back up and climbed onto the dock, where the other players anxiously waited, looking intently for the rising popsicle stick to float into view. Even the keenest eyes couldn’t spot it until it was just a few inches from the surface. Whoever dove out and nabbed it first was the winner, and the prize was to be the next to dive back down into the muck, popsicle stick in hand. (Afterward, kids who never snagged the stick would run to their moms, crying “I need glasses.”)
Beyond these more formal games, we spent hours swimming underwater, lunging stealthily at the feet and legs of unsuspecting victims, who would suddenly flee in horror at a “shark bite.” In reality, it was just a 10-year-old human bottom feeder searching for choice morsels to snack on. After the victim squealed, the offending “shark” would swim away and emerge — giggling — unnoticed.
For a sneaky kid like me, the mud-filled lakes in my town were paradise. I’ve been pleading with my suburban subdivision’s HOA to dump a few truckloads of dirt into the community swimming pool. Surprisingly, there’s been no response to date. Sadly, it appears I won’t get to re-live those slimy, muck-filled, halcyon days of yore.
The End
ProofsandSpoofs.com is written and produced by David Culver Brenner, whose first book, The Un-Socialist Chickens, was published earlier this year. Enter your email in the “Subscribe” bar to receive the latest posts. To learn more about The Un-Socialist Chickens, go to http://www.unsocialistchickens.com/