THE POOL PALS OF SUMMER

by Amy Holloway

Tom Stoppard wrote that “if you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.” No other season brings out my inner child like summer. And nowhere is that childlike sense of freedom and fun more on display than at our neighborhood pool. During the weekends, school children and teens are out in full force, but on weekdays, it is the retirees who rule the pool.

One of my chief motivators for retiring during the summer was the promise of more quality pool time. I grew up within walking distance of my neighborhood pool. As long as it was open, there was no need of a babysitter. My parents knew where I would be. Nor were the roles reversed when I had children of my own. The pool was our summer playground. If they were at the pool, so was I. There, I taught my children to swim, play Marco-Polo, and to create gigantic cannonball splashes off the diving board.

Some old habits gain a gentler second life. I may no longer show off my diving skills. But I can still be found in and by the pool most summer days.

My husband and I have established our routine of arriving as the doors unlock and claiming our spot in a shady corner. We get our laps in before retiring to our lounge chairs to read and people watch. More regulars trickle in. There are a few teachers on summer break; some health care professions taking advantage of their four-day work week schedule; young mothers with infants or toddlers; and other retirees like us. I watch my life stages unfold as mothers spray down wiggling children, who soon escape to scamper to the deep end ahead of belated warnings not to run. The pool becomes noisier and more crowded, but no less tranquil, with time. All the children’s splashing and shouting only heighten my own sense of contentment.

Thanks to my husband, Mike, who never met a stranger, we soon strike up conversations with the other retired couples. Chip and Anna are our earliest subdivision settlers. Then, there’s Ken and Deb and Don and Betty, who relocated to our neighborhood a few years ago to be nearer their grandchildren. We soon table summer reading to catch up on their latest news. They all share grandkid stories; We share the latest adventures of our now-grown children and two hunting dogs.

It’s our signal to leave when noon approaches and the sun overtakes our shade. At that point, there is a rotation of retirees as the sun worshippers arrive. Jeff and Joni came to Georgia from Arizonia and share our love for land west of the Mississippi. A retired athletic trainer, Jeff is our go-to for free advice on treating our aches and strains. Jim and Tammy may also appear, back from their latest world travels. They all don their hats, grab their floats, and head to the deeper end of the pool, waving to us as we head home. Mike and I may resurface again later in the afternoon as the UV rays and sun lower to greet the hard-core holdouts or the after-school crowd.

As I enter the third summer of my retirement, I realize that my “pool pals” (as we have dubbed ourselves) have become more than just seasonal friends. We meet off season every month for trivia night, pitting the “Pool Pals” against the “Jeopardy Rejects,” a group of more landlocked (and more knowledgeable) retirees. We have a few off-season pickleballers and golfers among our pool pals and may bump into each other at the grocery store or meet up at a local college or minor league baseball game.

Mostly, we count the days until Memorial Day. We follow some primal urge to return to chlorinated waters, where time, cares, and bodies become more buoyant. This may not be my childhood swimming pool, but in these waters, my inner child is free to do a handstand or a flip turn or to float face up contemplating the heavens. If there is a Heaven on earth and the gates are open, you’ll find me there – at the pool on a summer workday among good company.