Absoutely NO Metrosexuals Allowed

The pool in our neighborhood is open. It sits on the lake and adjacent the playground so it’s layered with the summer sounds of ski boats, laughter and shouting. All of the children are an inch taller, more sinewy than last year and a lot louder. I’m crowded by the youngest, with open arms for Chas, who is jumping off the ledge and into the water. Ford bobs and squeals with the more experienced swimmers. He’s riding atop a blue pool noodle and flashing everyone with Damon’s goggles and a wide smile full of straight, sweet little preschooler teeth. Some of us parents are lining the poolside, legs submerged, beers in hand and busy catching up. Many of us haven’t seen each other in months, and we’re quickly retying our seasonal connections. After all, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming months. The pool is the great common denominator during the long summer languor, and there’s something for everybody here, where nobody frowns upon beer bellies and mismatched bikinis.