The Water Park
We arrived near the end of the afternoon, about 4:30 pm. The Golfland water park was about to close, but my brother and I had never been down a real waterslide before (the small one at a babysitting center, Legends, didn’t count) and wanted to go. I remember the ticket attendant suggest we didn’t, that the price would still be the same as a full day’s worth, that we should come back tomorrow, but tomorrow wouldn’t do. We wouldn’t be at my godmother’s house anymore tomorrow. I remember my godmother telling the ticket man it was okay and to hurry up. So my brother and I, already changed into our swim trunks, were able to play. We scurried up the slide and I went down headfirst. All the twists and turns were exhilarating and got my imagination going. I began to pretend the water tunnel was a simulation for aircraft pilots. And in the end, I splashed into the pool below. I had been shot down. My F4 Tomcat had crashed into the ocean. Boom!
I tried to fly again, to go up that slide once more, but I spent a little too long playing and thrashing in that swimming pool. They closed the stairways; my brother was the last person allowed up. The lucky son of a gun. He got to fly twice. It was then I realized water parks were for the slides and swimming pools were for swimming. I wouldn’t make that mistake again at the end of sixth grade, when my school took a day trip to Raging Waters, the biggest water theme park around.
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