Waterpark

It's a summer workday and 5:00 can't come soon enough. My eyes wander towards the giant windows across from my cube, and I look out on another warm, sunlit afternoon, another perfect day in a string of perfect days. We've been lucky this summer. Maybe I'll cut out a few minutes early.

It's been an ideal waterpark season. We have spent a lot of time there, sometimes wandering over there before dinner, sometimes after dinner. One day the kids bike over. The next, we walk and bring Lucia in the wagon. Everyone is happy.

I, especially, love the waterpark. It is the neighborhood's melting pot. You hear multiple languages and get a glimpse into different family structures. Children of immigrants splash alongside children of hipsters. Over here is the teenage couple with the baby; over there are the two middle-aged mothers, talking and ignoring the antics of their middle school kids. In the shade, a sunglassed-teenager lazes about, earning an honest day's paycheck for "lifeguarding" the place. He is the authority figure here. Is he even necessary? Everyone's happy, because everyone likes to get wet. It's summer.

Lucia would spend all day here if we let her. She asks to come--"Daddy, wallapok?"--and, upon arriving, runs right out into the action. Sometimes she chases her brother and sister. Other days she tries to make new friends, but doesn't take too kindly to them when they try to take her water pail. She's a tough one. When she's not defending her turf, you can often find her sucking water right from the drain.

Happy as a clam.

It must feel like a whole amusement park to her. Some attractions, like the rainbow sprayer, she skips. Others, she explores again and again. The mini geysers are her favorite. She sticks her butt right into the spray and laughs like it it the most amazing, unexpected thing in the world. Then she goes to the next spray and does the exact same thing. She is so happy here.

Lucia enjoying her favorite place in the waterpark.

Celia is happy here too, though she lacks the exuberance of her younger sister. She wanders to and fro, running through a spray machine here, splashing her sister there. Her movements are intentional: she has a plan in mind, likely part of some larger game or complex narrative she is playing out  in her imagination. She always has a smile on her face.

Emerging from the spray.

7:00 comes too soon. It is still light out, and though the shadows have grown longer, there is no reason to go home. This is simply too much fun.

The floppy-haired teen walks to the gate--the only real work he has done all afternoon--and we know that this is the end. I call Celia and Lucia to come get their towels. They do not rush. We finally leave, but not without some tears from Lucia. If she would stop crying for a moment, perhaps she'd be comforted by what I am saying: we'll be back tomorrow.