Ma'am & The Enforcer

The Adult Swim whistle had just been blown by the time we got to the YMCA pool.

Four smiling 15- 17 year old man-boy lifeguards walked away from the water and in the direction of the vending machines, while sad wet children filed out and made their way to take a seat along the edge.  They looked like a busy ant colony after the rain.

After 10 minutes of doing cannonballs over their heads, I watched a new shift of lifeguards return to blow the All Swim whistle.

I returned to my plastic lounge chair to resume watching the lifeguards watch my children swim.  I've come to realize that I enjoy this very much.

{loud whistle} "DON'T SIT ON THE FOUNTAIN!"

{loud whistle} "STOP RUNNING!"

{loud whistle} "STOP SKIPPING!"

{loud whistle} "STOP HOLDING HER UNDER THE WATER!"

{loud whistle} "DON'T SCREAM!"

{loud whistle} "KEEP YOUR NOODLE TO YOURSELF!"

The truth is, I might receive a little sick pleasure from listening to other people discipline my children and their friends.  As long as the whistle-blower doesn't carry it too far, I find it a bit amusing to watch these over-zealous teenagers think they're saving the day with every toddler/child they scold.  And likewise, I  might like watching my kids bite their fingernails with big unblinking eyes.  It's good to be reminded that while my reprimands don't strike fear into their hearts anymore, at least someone else's does.  Any occasion that yields an opportunity to see your child react unlike a sociopath is a good occasion, I always say.  (I've actually never said that before.)

It's mostly funny to me to think about how these little kids can't see them for what they are.  Give a 15 year old with acne a whistle and a tall chair, and suddenly they're adults.  Through the eyes of children, they're frightening adults.

One lifeguard is assigned to a direction of the pool- a north, south, east, and west guard.  The new shift was familiar.  This particular team seems to always work together each time we are there.  Three out of the four lifeguards on duty are pretty nice, while the fourth (the southside guard) has affectionately come to be known as The Enforcer by myself and the girls.  About a foot shorter than the other guards, in athletic sandals, and sporting very large glasses (not of the sun variety), he keeps his whistle in his mouth at all times.  There's usually a rotation of 5-6 children in time-out at the base of his chair at all times.  He does a lot of pointing with 2 fingers to kids, followed by a lot of gesturing to "c'mere" to kids.  This in turn means there are usually a lot of kids looking to their left & right, followed by a "who me?"-point-to-their-own-chest.

I sit back with my bag of pretzels and take it all in, enjoying it like a juicy opera.

As usual, The Enforcer was on it.  My children were let off easy with a mere warning to climb up the pool ladder faster, or to "stop walking in a running way".  But it was when he blew the whistle on what looked like a 3 year old girl with pig tails and arm floaties for jumping into the water and splashing a side-lining adult that did me in.  It took poor little Cindy Lou Who at least 5 minutes to doggie-paddle up to the ladder, climb out, and toddle her way over to him.  He wasn't mean to her, but he spoke to her like she was an adult.  This didn't appear to bother the child, but it certainly upset the onlooking mother.  I couldn't help but giggle at the spectacle.

The eastside guard must've overheard me, as he turned around.

"Whoops", he muttered with a smile.

"Yeah, whoops is right.  Looks like someone has a future as a mall cop", I said.

"He's a good guy, but he may make the wrong mom mad one day."

We went on this way for some time, exchanging stories about The Enforcer that made us both belly laugh and cringe.

Right before the top of the hour, clouds rolled in and we heard distant thunder.  Wet children filed back out of the pool, this time wrapping themselves in towels and moving towards the exit.  This time the ant colony really was being rained on.

I told the eastside guard that I enjoyed talking to him.  And to "have a good afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am.  You too, ma'am.  It was nice talking to you too, ma'am."

What would warrant three whole ma'am's?

"Oh, I'm not a ma'am.  I'm only 33."

If there was a whistle reserved for being too awkward, it would have been blown loud at that moment.  And I'd have certainly been put in time-out for it.

The poor man-boy didn't know what to do with his eyes or arms, as one arm went looking for a pocket that wasn't there, and his eyes went looking for The Enforcer.  I'm sure he was thinking, "The Enforcer would know what to say."

"Whoops.  I'm sorry.", was all that came out of his nervous mouth.

Suddenly much funnier than thinking about the way children view teenagers, I was forced to reevaluate the way I perceive myself.

I grabbed the miscellaneous goggles and pool toys and flip flops and shoved them into my basket, wrangled the 4 children I had brought with me, my Bon Appetit magazine, and the keys to our Volvo.  I neatly folded the remaining dry towel, and slipped my linen cover-up over my head.  I threw away the coffee cup I was holding.  I barked at my kid to stop running.

Alas, I'm more ma'am than you'll ever be.