Size 36 Pants

 The kids were acting like, well, kids. The three year old and his older brother engaged in play that resulted in cries of dismay or tears in an almost rhythmic pattern. Good moments followed by a blip of emotion. Rinse and repeat. Nothing of consequence, just boys being boys.

We sat outside in the backyard, cousins catching up with one another, a moment long in the making. The scene definitely reminiscent of the pre-pandemic world. Essentially ignoring the occasional outbursts from the little kiddy pool coming but a few feet away. The gentle benign reminders for kind consideration of the feelings of the wounded sibling, the direction from parent to child.

But I was restless in my chair. It was hot, the water was inviting and my natural instinct is to do something puerile and slightly stupid when I note any young one even in momentary distress. So, I ambled over to where the boys were aiming their water guns at one another and challenged them to find a new target. Me.

For the next 15 or 20 minutes, I did my best impression of Gale Sayers, zigging zagging and generally avoiding not a drop of the spray directed at my stomach, my glasses, my ears, my backside. The boys, especially the little one, taking extreme satisfaction in their marksmanship. I rung out my shirt every now and then, as it attached its full weight to my skin.

Rather than rest on my laurels, I made inquiry as to whether the family possessed a slip and slide. My next undertaking involved far more slip than slide, with the exception of one decidedly unremarkable but particularly painful belly flop.

You would have thought this activity would have fully satiated my inner kindergartner. But then my granddaughter arrived on the scene, along with her natural inclination to take it slowly, to analyze any new environment before taking the plunge.

And as she hesitated to take the dive, emotionally, down the little slide into the kiddy pool, I naturally decided my next calling. I gently placed my bottom so as not cause embarrassing destruction and thereafter took the two second trip down to the other bottom.

It is hard being a child in an old man's body. It is a bad fit, like clothing that is way too big and gives the rest of the world ample space for question.

So it was here, quite literally. For I was not invited to a pool party and had no change of clothes at the ready. I sat uncomfortably, moving to and fro, my idiocy sticking to me and beginning to make me reconsider my earlier actions.

I am a small person, size 32 pants my number with a bit of room to spare in my thinner times. Our host was a full grown person who I now learned wore size 36.

And so, I excused myself and headed to a dressing area where I soon emerged very grateful for having worn a belt with my shorts. 

Before we left at evening's end, the boys mom and dad thanked me for my willingness to do what I had done. But the sad secret is that this took no coaxing. Rather it was me unfortunately being who and what I am. A person who is masquerading in clothes intended for someone far bigger, far more suited than I for the attire he wears.