Cues

As a parent, you learn the subtle cues when your children have either bitten off more than they can chew or think they have. My son's cue is “Dad, do you really think I'm ready for this?”

He asked me that question the night before we were to leave on the scouting trip. My answer was, “Of course you are, bud. You'll be able to handle everything.” What I was thinking was, “Of course you are, bud. I, on the other hand, am not. There's not going to be any beer, TV or anything resembling a bed for almost a week.”

The other day, he asked me the same question. We were sitting on the plastic chairs outside the dive shop at Cane Bay. I could tell by the tone of his voice, this was a serious one. Over the past month, we'd gone through the online training for open water scuba certification together. He could have easily done it himself, but I wanted to make sure I still knew the rules. (He is a stickler for the rules. The last thing I wanted was for him to grab my regulator halfway through a dive and kick me out of the water for a time out when I went too deep, or missed a proper surface interval. So, every night after work, we'd go over a couple of sections. (Do you have any idea how annoying it is when your son scores better on the tests than you do? Luckily, I didn't have to say my answers.))

We'd also done several practice sessions in the pool at home. He'd SNUBAed and was great at snorkeling, so, I was sure he'd have no problem. It was pretty hilarious seeing him in my wife's BCD (That's the thing they attach the tank to. When you're ten and trying to figure things out with an adult sized tank and adult equipment, the stakes are stacked against you pretty high. It's a good thing laughter doesn't travel well under water.)

When we got to St Croix, he had to do his pool sessions then four open water dives with an instructor before he would be certified and could dive on his own with a buddy. I made the reservations at the dive shop and got him there on time. My wife and daughter went to play in the sand while I stayed to make sure he was comfortable. He had to do a quick knowledge check (which he aced. Yes I was very proud of him). Then he had to put his equipment together. That was supposed to be the end of the first day. Since we were on vacation, a slow start was good. That's when the instructor told me my son was going to do his first open water dive.

Now, since the instructor had never seen my son in the pool and probably didn't remember him from last year, I was a little surprised. But not as surprised as my son. Hence our sitting in the plastic chairs outside the dive shop.

“Dad... Do you really think I'm ready for this?”

We shared a look for a minute. “Yep, bud, you are.”

“Are you sure?” This was definitely a “I've bitten off more than I can chew” moment.

“What are our rules for diving?” We'd come up with our own, and both had to agree before we would start a dive.

“Calm, confident and safe.”

“Do you think you can do this?”

A slight nod of his head.

Will I let you get hurt?

A slight shake of his head.

That just left calm. “You can do all the skills, Bud. I've seen you do them in the pool. You know all the rules, you've passed all the tests. Yes, you're ready for this. Do you think you are?”

There was a pause as he thought... “Yes, Dad. Are you going with us?”

“Yes. I'll get my stuff right now.”

The three of us made our way down to the ocean. (Actually, my son made his way. I limped under the 50 pounds of gear and whimpered because I was barefoot and forgot that the tropical sun and cement combine to create what's known as nuclear fusion heat. The instructor was better off, but he was “helping” my son walk with all his scuba gear on. This was quite a feat since the gear probably weighed more than my son.) After a few minutes of practicing key skills, we all headed out.

For the next 30 minutes, I saw my son do his first scuba dive. He was calm and confident. He did everything he was supposed to and made it look easy.

“Dad, do you think I'm ready for this?”

"Yes, you are, but damn it, I'm not.”

Camping - Part 1

“Dad! I got a red white and blue!”

“Great! Was it hard?”

“No way. Did you get yours yet?”

“I just got here. You saw me drive up.” I couldn't tell if the grin on his face from from excitement or laughing at teasing me.

I should explain. About six months ago, I made the mistake of taking him to a cub scout pack meeting where they announced the date for the summer camping trip. “Can we go? Can we? Can we?”

Half way home, he wore me down enough for me to answer, “We'll see if your mother can go.”

“I want you to go. We might never be able to go camping again. It would be a travesty and could leave permanent emotional scars if I can't go camping with you this summer.” Maybe he didn't say those exact words, but it had to be something close to that for me finally agree to spend 5 days away from a dry, comfortable bed and go camping with his troop.

This was the last time he'd be able to go camping as a cub scout, and he could stay the entire five days, so I made the parental promise that we would go and got the time off work.

A few days before the camp was to start, we hit a road bump. He had to do a swimming test at the very start of camp. And he was worried. This is the same kid that has done snuba, can dive deeper than the life guards at the pool and has no problem snorkeling for hours. And he was worried about swimming two laps in a pool and floating on his back.

That explained the excitement and pride as he cheered that he'd passed his swimming test for cub scout camp. Since work was an hour and a half away from the camp and check-in was at 5, our friend took him so that he would have a chance to settle in. He and his friends had immediately jumped in and passed their swimming test with flying colors.

“Are you going to do your test now?” There was a snicker.

“It's a little late.”

“Oh, you can take it now. Take your swim suit with you to sign in.” This was our friend that had graciously brought him. (She is no longer a good friend.)

“Yes. Go take it now, Dad. We'll come watch.”

“You guys go up to the campsite and get settled in. I'll come up after I get signed in. You guys need to get the camp fire going for smores.”

I swim three-four miles a week, so I was not worried about the test. I was actually looking forward to it, it'd been a long day and a long drive to campsite. The rest of the day was a refreshing swim, then a short hike up to the camp site, a comfortable cot and a peaceful night's sleep out under the stars. Yep, the next five days were going to be relaxing and full of father/son bonding and learning.

As I walked down to the pool, I heard a terrible rumor: The pool was not heated. Still, I wasn't worried... too much. It was out in the sun, surely it wouldn't be too cold.

Over the next few minutes, I learned several things.

• Some boy scouts do not have a sense of humor. I asked if it was ok to scream when I jumped in. The scout “monitoring” my swim looked at me blankly. I was referring to the cold water, he thought I meant in excitement.

• Even if the pool had been in the middle of the desert, it wouldn't have been warm because they obviously filled it every day from glacier water. I figured this out the instant my toes hit the water. I'm pretty sure my entire body was blue before my feet were wet...

• My son HAS a sense of humor. He knows I hate cold water and wanted to hear my scream.

Once in, there was nothing left to do but swim. We had to do at least one length of the pool doing a back stroke. I suffered through three lengths doing the adult version of the crawl. It was adult because every other stroke was followed by a four letter word. (Since my teeth were chattering so much, no one heard the curses. Even if they had, cub scouts is about learning new things...)

Then, it was time for the backstroke. I started and after a few strokes I heard the life guard yelling at me that I was NOT doing the backstroke. Now, I watched the Olympics, and while my form may not be in the same league as Michael Phelps, I'm pretty sure it's still recognizable as the back stroke. It was my turn to look blankly until he demonstrated that the “back stroke” was the breast stroke on your back.

“Did you pass?” My son asked when I got to camp.

“Yep.”

“Was it cold?” He and his friend giggled

“What do you think?”

I couldn't hear his answer because he was laughing so hard.

“Why didn't you warn me?”

That got him and his friend laughing even harder.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realized I'd left my swim suit in the changing room and it had disappeared. (Hypothermia has a marked affect on short term memory) We checked the lost and found and no one had turned it in. Unfortunately, the pool had a rule that you could only swim with a swim suit. Each time I heard the kids scream as they jumped in the cold water, I learned that I did not mind that rule. After all, cub scouts is also about following the rules.

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.