Exhilaration and exasperation are common themes with family vacations
By George Valadie
She was all of 3. Maybe. He was 33. At least. But she was winning.
By a lot.
“Come on, you can do it. Just jump,” he said.
Her brain was all about it. Her legs? Not so much.
“I’m right here. I’ll catch you,” he encouraged.
She had a different plan. “Hold my hands.”
“No, you can do this. I’m right here. You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he reassured.
This oft-seen drama was unfolding anew right in front of us as we laid back in our pool chairs, pretending to read but silently cheering for the little lady. All the while remembering when our now-adult girls had been that age.
And hoping—as her dad was—and just as I had those many years ago—that she would work up the courage to do what we all knew she so badly wanted to do. Just leap.
Though “leap” might be stretching it. Dad was in the pool; she was on the steps. Not up on the side, nor even on the top step; rather, she was there on the first step.
She leaned his way a time or two then tried bending her knees to coil up before springing out into his arms.
Ready! Set! Almost go! Fear had paralyzed her, though they couldn’t have been more than 6 inches apart.
Still, he felt the need to get louder.
“Are you gonna jump or not? You did yesterday. Now come on, jump,” he exhorted. Maybe hollered. Maybe frustrated. “Or I’m taking you back to your mother.”
She wore the cutest little pink one-piece with what felt like a matching swimmies vest. Arms and chest wrapped, she wouldn’t have gone under if she’d launched herself from a 30-foot platform.
You could tell she wanted so badly to let go, to let herself fall into his arms. But she couldn’t.
Not yet. No matter what he said or how loud he said it.
Across the way, on the other side of the pool, was a family of four. Mom was stretched out in the sun, their 12-year-old son in the pool, diving left and right for the mini-football his father was passing with him.
But Dad was also multitasking.
While throwing his best spiral, he and their 14-year-old daughter were also dancing on the pool’s edge, rocking out to the disc jockey’s tunes wafting across the deck.
Rolling his hips and keeping rhythm to the beat—sorta—he was all in as the father-daughter duo performed some sort of synchronized line dance. And they were pretty good, too. This wasn’t their first time to dance together.
Lost in wherever they were, both were oblivious to—or didn’t care—that our resort pool was packed on this holiday weekend. Her every move was graceful; he was just trying to keep up.
Not every step was synchronized, but both did flash big, broad, matching smiles.
I could almost remember those days, too, the ones before I seemed to so easily embarrass our girls.
“Dad! Stop!” And then they’d disappear underwater, only to resurface 20 feet away with “Mom, make him stop!”
An hour later, Nancy and I were floating in the pool ourselves. (She had successfully coaxed me into jumping in.)
And that’s when we caught sight of a different scenario. Twelve chairs down from ours sat a teenage girl in tears. And beside her sat her dad.
We couldn’t hear a thing, but it wasn’t hard to imagine every word.
“Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Tears.
“I hate that he broke up with you. I know that has to hurt.”
Tears.
“I know it might not seem that way right this minute, but you will meet another guy. You’ll like him more. And he will be the sort who appreciates the awesome girl that I know you are.”
A hug. A kiss on the forehead.
“Why don’t you come get in the pool with me?”
I think she wanted to, but she wouldn’t jump either.
Through the years, we’ve stayed at this particular hotel more than once. Perfectly manicured, right on the ocean, and free towels everywhere. There are multiple restrooms nearby, which is more important than it used to be. With food and drinks closer than that.
There’s also an adults-only pool across the way. But we’ve never set foot in it. We love people-watching, especially the families with kids. And especially since they’re not ours to worry with.
I couldn’t help wondering what life might be like for these same three families if they happen to return here in a year or two or 20.
Three dads who—at the moment anyway—could have no idea what lies ahead.
I imagined one father who will someday swap places with his daughter and shed tears of his own as he walks her down the aisle because he was right—and she did indeed find the boy of her dreams.
Another who’s not likely to get that many more chances to dance with his daughter—at least not in front of other people. We dads have been known to humiliate our teens now and again. Sometimes it’s when we dance; sometimes basic breathing is all it takes. (Though there is that wedding dance coming their way.)
And one last dad who can’t fully appreciate just how successful he will be in raising a fearless young lady who won’t hesitate to leap—into learning, into love, into life.
“I’m right here. You know I won’t let anything happen to you.” Words that matter … words that stick.
Before the day was over, his patience and her bravery won the day. And she did indeed jump.
And as often happens, she jumped again. And again. And again. And again. And …
She smiled, he smiled, and so did a nearby mom and dad who kind of wished they could do those days all over again.
Dear God—They are your greatest gifts. May we enjoy their every day—even the trying ones. Amen.
George Valadie is a parishioner at St. Stephen Church in Chattanooga and author of the book “We Lost Our Fifth Fork … and other moments when we need some perspective.”