Last Saturday, we took S to a big waterpark in Galveston as part of her 5th birthday celebration. We had a fantastically fun day. She went down multiple water slides by herself. We floated down the lazy river in two double-sized inner tubes, a parent with each child. And A found great joy in going down a small slide totally by herself, again and again and again.
Like with any amusement park experience, a certain amount of suspension of disbelief is necessary in order to preserve the fun tone of the occasion. For example, it is important not to look too closely at the water and give too much thought to how many hundreds of people, infants in diapers and adolescent boys looking to misbehave have splashed in the water that your five-year-old insists on swimming under water in and your two-year-old will not stop licking. In my case, it's important to maintain the belief that my sunscreen really is waterproof and repeated application will indeed protect me from the searing Texas sun. And--like in most fast food establishments--it's crucial to believe that the burgers really are fresh despite not being able to see into the dark kitchen and the fact that all the food service workers don't look old enough for a learner's permit.
These were the truths I knew before we went to Schlitterbaan. But this was the first time that I came face to face with the free self-expression of Texans. I'd seen flashes of henna-ed snakes coiling around upper arms, only slightly shielded by short-sleeved tops. Little hearts and sanscrit sayings sometimes peeked out when a babysitter in a tank top bent over to pick up a sippy cup at the park. I'd even seen multi-colored anklets etched on tanned, bronzed skin. But with the shirts off, I was able to appreciate the full scope of body art preferred by Texas men. We saw dragons spanning full backs; men labeling themselves as "sinner" or "outcast" in intricate Gothic letters across their chests; and even portraits of wives and children carefully drawn on large biceps. They men were proud. The woman weren't nearly so ostentatious with their body art. They didn't have to be. They had their own ways to reveal themselves.
I've heard that everything is bigger in Texas, but this was ridiculous. Apparently, wearing a bikini two sizes too small is de rigeur. I actually overheard a teenager telling her best friend, "if you sneeze, you're going to fall out of your top." Personally, I think an exhale would have done it. I knew that Texas was different when an online discussion in my local moms group surrounded how many moms had gotten their breast inflated after finishing breastfeeding. Not a conversation I imagine happening in Mothers and More of Snohomish County, but I hadn't realized that the obsession was so pervasive. Now, I understand the allure of a bikini when you're sun bathing at the beach. But on waterslides? When you're moving at fast speeds and dropping suddenly into deep water. M's glasses fell off. I lost my hat. What did the ladies lose? Maybe that's why the lifeguards worked so cheaply . . .
This great display of uber masculinity and feminity came with a soundtrack - hits of the 1980's. Despite myself, I found myself tapping my toes to "Africa" and mouthing the words to "Living on a Prayer" as I waited in line with S. Good job, Schlitterbaan. You have something for me as well . . . "Our house, in the middle of our street, our house . . . "
