I lived in Denton, 35 miles north of my hometown of Dallas, for just over two years. During that time, I worked at a series of jobs I would not especially want to list on my résumé and was briefly a graduate student at North Texas State University. Just as the friends I made then have vanished from my life, I wonder whether a single one of them would remember me after so many years. The odds range from maybe to doubtful.
My time in Denton would seem to be a fairly blank slate if not for the explosion of joy that took place at the city’s municipal pool in the summer of 1980. It was and still is located at 515 North Bell Avenue, between downtown and Texas Woman’s University. For what it is worth, TWU is my mother’s alma mater, and she met my father, a North Texas student, in the late 1940s. The pool, however, was not built until much later.
I went alone nearly every time. I would swim, read a newspaper or magazine, swim a little more and then head home after about an hour. So it was at the beginning, but not for long. Due to the passage of time, I do not remember how an otherwise prosaic summer became sublime, fantastic and thrilling. Dear reader, please understand that I went to the Denton Muny Pool for no other reason than to beat the Texas heat. Early that summer, I met a child. Male or female, who knows? Kids like attention, and when they realize an adult is trustworthy, their energetic nature takes over. I said such things as “Hey, you are a good swimmer!” and “Let me see you do a handstand” and “How long can you hold your breath under water?” and “Can you swim from here to there?” They loved to show their capabilities to an appreciative adult.
Soon, he or she was doing more swimming tricks, talking, playing and asking me questions. This must have become evident to another one who wandered over to take part. Without ignoring kid No. 1, I would direct my attention to kid No. 2 and banter with him/her. And then another, and another.
From then on, when I walked in one or more of these children would recognize me, call me by name and insist that I come and play immediately. I emphasize again that matters of trust had to be established first, but once they were we had more fun than a barrel full of monkeys. The lifeguards did not mind if I threw the kids up in the air for a big splash as long as we kept it safe. Needless to say, they generated a lot of noise laughing, chattering and shrieking. It was not uncommon for me to have one kid in each arm and another on my back, plus one or two others grabbing on. There were times when more than 10 children—if I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’—clamored simultaneously for my attention. None of them ever misbehaved.
I remember just a few. There was a girl named Shelly, three blond-headed brothers named Rick, Tom and Charley (natives of Madison, Wisconsin), and a young girl named Rachel. She was so cute. Once, her father came over to me, intent on having an adult conversation. Was he concerned that I was doing anything improper with his daughter and the other children? On the contrary. He and the rest of the parents had been observing our interactions all summer long, and I certainly had nothing to hide. Rachel’s dad only wanted to express gratitude and state his amazement. He asked, “How are you doing this? And why are you doing it?” I do not recall my exact answer, but I deflected his complimentary words. I probably just said I love children, and that is a fact.
I left Denton for Austin prior to the summer of 1981. In fact, I did not go back until I had become an expat in Korea. I visited the pool in 2009 and saw it had been expanded and given a fancy blue slide. Of course, I reminisced about the sweet girls and boys with whom I had played. Rachel and the others are now approaching middle age with kids of their own.
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