Pot Holes... Island Style

What is the one thing you don't want to add to a stressful driving experience? (In this case, stressful was remembering to drive on the left-hand side of the road and watch out for smooth sections of road (Why should you watch for smooth sections? We were in St Croix for our vacation. I've written about the roads and general driving before. This year, it looks like maintaining the roads got away from them, (kinda like spring cleaning) and it was actually easier to assume the road was a giant pot hole. The conversation usually went like this:


“Didn't you see that pot hole?” from my wife.

“That was us coming out of the pot hole.”

I think she usually had some other comment, but I couldn't hear it because my ears were popping as we descended into another pot hole.)

That one thing you don't want to add is two passengers of the female gender. My wife was hopped up on caffeine and my daughter was channeling an auctioneer. Both were talking to me, carrying on completely different conversations (In my daughter's case, her conversation had at least three separate themes that I was supposed to keep straight.)

We were heading back to Cane Bay to pick up my son from the first part of his scuba certification. So, to the best of my recollection, the topics I was being bombarded with were:

How big were the waves at Cane Bay (I made the mistake of saying they were sweet baby killer waves. Both my daughter and my wife explained in great detail that this meant the waves killed babies, and my daughter added that every year they had different ways of describing the waves, and this year, killer and baby were definitely not allowed to be in the description, even when properly punctuated (I proposed sweet killer waves, baby.).

When were we getting star fruit, because you can't have a vacation without star fruit. Also, we should take the seeds back with us and plant them. Her friends didn't know how good star fruit was. She could take a picture, but it would be much better to have the actual fruit.

My daughter missed her friends. Every summer she doesn't get to see them (because there is no school) and this summer, she again didn't get to see them at all! (At least she's good at noticing patterns. I didn't mention that she saw her friends every Monday at girl scouts. She also saw her friends at girl scout camp the week before we left. We've also had her friends over to play...)

I also take inappropriate pictures. The picture of her I used for the cover of my book (which you can buy on amazon.com, just search for Jack Dayett, it's called Surviving Childhood and Raising Special Needs Parents) was not taken with her permission and it is very embarrassing that millions of people have seen it. (I didn't mention that with my readership well into the mid-single digits, millions might be a bit high.) I should only take pictures when she is ready. That spawned a side conversation on the weirdest sleeping picture contest that we have every year. (For more info on that, check out the archives from August two years ago.) She thought for a couple of minutes and said it was ok, as long as they weren't published globally.

My wife's conversation was centered around the fact the our daughter had come out of her shell. (Along with a growth spurt that added about three inches to her height, she's also lost her fear of boys. Now they are just icky. She definitely is not going to get married unless they change the kiss thing to a fist bump. That might be acceptable, but kissing is out of the picture.)

So, we were having a nice drive through the island. (The people on St Croix are some of the nicest drivers you will ever meet. Going the wrong way down a one-way street or even driving on the wrong side of the road does not seem to bother them in the slightest. (My wife on the other hand is quick to point out both these errors, but she doesn't adapt to the island life as fast as I do.) I had the radio on to drown out the conversations, but each time I turned it up, they both talked louder. Luckily, all I had to do was hit a pot hole and all conversations stopped while they waited to see if the car was going to keep running. Thankfully, there is no shortage of potholes.

Hand signals

“Ok, little dude, what's the sign for 'ok'?”

I was pretty sure the guide wasn't talking to me. My son squinted up and made the universal “OK” sign with his index finger and thumb. He even placed it on his chest like we'd taught him.

“Good job, dude. Up?”

He gave a thumbs up, then a thumbs down before the guide finished asking about the sign to go down.

This was all in preparation for our first snuba dive. My son still has a few years before he can get certified to scuba dive and is just old enough to snuba. With twenty feet being the deepest you can go, we thought this would be perfect.

I knew he was excited the night before because he was quiet. So, being his dive partner for the snuba, we had a little talk.

“Daddy, what if we sit on a crab?”

“We won't.”

“What about a stingray? You said we might sit in the sand.”

“I'll look before we sit and make sure there are no stingrays or crabs, ok?”

That got a solemn nod.

“What are you looking forward to seeing the most?”

“A trumpet fish.” This had been high on his list for the past three days. His mother and sister had seen one and he missed it. Now, it was a burning need. Whenever anything long was under the water, “Is that a trumpet fish?”

“No, that's a piece of seaweed.”

So, I told him we would look for one. I was a little nervous because I had not seen one yet either. I wasn't going to tell my wife, who had seen, according to her count, thousands of trumpet fish (From her reported sightings, only trumpet fish lived in the waters off Saint Croix.), that she might be confusing trumpet fish with seaweeds...

We got to Cane Bay a few minutes early and both kids raced to the waves in order to conserve his energy for the snuba dive. When the guide was ready, my son and I grabbed our masks and fins and sat down for the pre-dive briefing.

I know I've given him several lectures and he has never listened as intently as his did for those twenty minutes. We learned about the hand signs, clearing your ears and breathing. “What's the most important thing to remember?” the guide asked.

I didn't know there was going to be a pop quiz. Apparently, neither did the other two adults. We all hemmed and hawed for a moment before my son pipped up, “Always breathe.” I was going to go with keep clearing your ears.

“Good job, little dude.” the guide said.

One of the hand signs we learned was, if the guide had to go up and check on someone or something, he would make the “safe” sign from baseball, then make a hachette sign of the direction we were supposed to keep going.

With the briefing done, we entered the water. I remember my first time breathing from a regulator underwater and figured it would take several minutes for my son to get used to it. He put the regulator in his mouth and plopped his face underwater... and stayed there, bubbles coming up perfectly.

With fins on, masks and regulators, we started our first snuba dive. We made it out to about ten feet deep and came to large frond under water. I wanted him to see it up close, so, we dove towards it. Then, I saw a fish among the branches and pointed it out. My son saw his first ever trumpet fish. (I still don't think the entire fish population here is trumpet fish like my wife does...)

During the dive, he saw the trumpet fish, three squid and every other fish he'd seen while snorkeling. But now, he was able to see them close and take his time. His first complete sentence when we got back to the beach was, “Can we go again tomorrow?”

Afterward, we snorkeled out over the reefs we'd just snuba-ed. The first time I saw his hand hatchet-chop in front of my mask, I thought he was just swimming. A second later, his little hand was right in front of my mask, his thumb pointing up in, what can only be described as, an Hitlerian fashion. I lifted my head and was greeted with a hatchet chop towards the beach. “That way.”

For the next twenty minutes, whenever I stopped or turned to follow a fish, he hand chopped in front of my face to make sure I kept on track.

Now, I've got my wife keeping on track above the water, my daughter supplying a free soundtrack under water and my son making sure I know exactly how to get back to the shore so it can all be repeated. I am going to enjoy going back to work after this vacation.

Stripes

“Daddy, I'm going to put sunscreen on your back. Very carefully.”

In the Caribbean, sunscreen is a must, especially if you are visiting from Pennsylvania. If you are not sure, Pennsylvania is not known for it's beaches. Where we're from, it's more known for not-being-flat-at-all (That doesn't really have anything to do with this article, but if you've been following me (all three of you) you know that doesn't bother me overly much.). I figured my daughter would be perfect for this job. Messy and a lot were the two primary concerns I had. And... my daughter is nothing if not messy.

“Put it in my hand, Daddy.” She cupped her little hand and waited for the sunscreen. I squeezed out a large amount. “I'm going to use one finger. That's important.”

At five-years old, I think she's been talking for at least fifteen years. Let me rephrase that... Since she grasped the mechanics of speaking, she has not stopped... ever. Even my wife's mother has commented on it. (Never mind that is the pot calling the kettle black.)

So, we had a nice conversation (monologue) while she carefully put the sunscreen on my back. I have no idea what we talked about, but that wasn't important. She did the back of my legs, again, very carefully.

Once we were all sun-screened, we were off for more fun in the sun.

I learned a long time ago that when you are snorkeling, you need to have at least one very good friend. Anyone can put sunscreen on their arms and legs, but it takes a very talented person to completely cover their own back with sunscreen. When you are snorkeling, your back, it's safe to say, is always in the sun. I learned this shortly after I was married. My wife and I took a vacation to Florida to go scuba diving. We'd just gotten our certification and were anxious to try it out. We even worked in visit to her aunt and uncle who had a boat. They took us snorkeling for sea shells the day before our first dive.

Being originally from north-eastern Ohio, I was not that familiar with the “sun”. I knew it existed, and had even seen it a couple of times. But as far as “tanning” and “sunburn”, those were foreign concepts to a simple farm boy.

I ended up with a fourth degree sunburn on my back. My wife still claims it wasn't that bad, but she's still won't admit it was all her fault. (She did show enough concern to get Solarcane and spray it on my back. It must have provided some relief after I passed out from the initial scream.) So, the next morning, I'm sure my back was covered in open blisters, we walked out to the boat with all our gear. Part of this gear included wet suits.

If you've never worn a wet suit, I think the scientific way it works is it keeps a layer of water next to your skin and that gets warmed from your body heat. So your core temperature doesn't drop quickly. In order for this to work, the wet suit has to be tight. (I think the real way it works is you get so over heated forcing your body into a rubber suit, in the blazing sun of Florida, that when you get in the cooler water, you go into shock and don't realize how cold you are.)

In all honesty, getting into the wetsuit for that first dive was not bad. The boat was fairly steady in the water and it wasn't crowded. The pain started when I pulled the zipper up the back of the wetsuit. I'm pretty sure dolphins and whales miles away perked up as I whimpered. Even that wasn't too bad.

No, the real pain was when I put on the scuba tank and stood up. Forty pounds of metal bouncing on a fourth degree (yeah, I know there is no fourth degree, but it's my story.) sunburn gives new meaning to “discomfort.” Luckily, it was only a few steps to fall into the salt water.

What does this have to do with my daughter putting sunscreen on my back? Well, after a day of snorkeling, we returned to the resort. It was a little later that I noticed parts of my back were tender. When I checked in a mirror, I noticed that there were definitely lines of non-sunburn. Among those few lines of non-sunburn were great patches of bright red. I have to admit, you could easily see the care that was taken with each stroke of sun screen. I'm sure that Salvadore Dali would have been impressed with her child-prodigy-ness. I've heard the phrase that artists suffer for their craft, but this is the first time I've heard of the canvas suffering.

I'd forgotten one key factor... My daughter has the attention span that can only be measured in nano seconds. I'm sure this will end up being my fault, somewhere down the road. But at least she hasn't learned the finer skills of marketing so I don't have to worry about walking down the beach as a mobile advertisement... That'll be next year.