Gappa at the Y

The idea was Bonnie’s. She had seen that the YMCA had an open gym for small children on Tuesday mornings, with all kinds of exercise cushions, cycles, balls, and other toys spread about. The last couple of Tuesdays she had taken grandson Jansen to the Y for swimming in the shallow pool, which he loved, but on this particular Tuesday, she was going to be busy as an election judge.  We both thought I should take the opportunity to introduce him to something new this week along with the pool. 

It sounded like fun, but the thought of being solely responsible for any bathroom breaks, unclothing and clothing, showers, pool and gym discipline, and potential incidents/accidents was somewhat intimidating. His mother didn’t seem concerned, and Bonnie took a bit of pleasure in the thought. So at 9:30 a.m. on that given Tuesday, I was pulled by the hand toward the doorway to the pool with a chorus of “poo…poo…poo…” He certainly knew the routine. 

Not to be deterred, I pulled in the opposite direction, persuasive in my weight advantage, dragging him down the hall to the gym. All the way he repeated, “Gamma, Gamma, Gamma,” as though his grandmother would suddenly appear to the rescue. That all changed when he sighted the multiple children riding trikes and throwing balls. For the next hour I chased, caught, protected (myself from various projectiles), and laughed. He had a ball - literally and figuratively. Seeking a chance to catch my breath, I said, “poo?” Off we went in the direction of the family locker room.

There I was guided to the lockers, in which Jansen started putting his jacket. Clearly, I was being led in the routine. Except the diaper change. I don’t think that was a normal part of the process, because the way I did it took way too long, complicated by the fact that there was an appreciable cleaning component. But finally we made it to the poo, er, pool, where he began throwing all kinds of balls, rings, rubber duckies, and pool-doodles from the large bucket at the shallow end. Soon they all began drifting into the ongoing swim lesson class in deeper water, so I walked out and began collecting them to put them back in the bucket. For the next five or ten minutes, he would throw them in the water, while I pulled them out of the water. It became a competition - one that I was quickly losing as he could throw faster than I could gather. Bonnie didn’t tell me about that part. 

Using my power of distraction - which consisted of coming up from under him like a whale and carrying him off into the deeper end - we spent the remainder of our time getting in and out of the poo, not running (fast walking), and throwing a more limited few of the articles for Grandpa to fetch and collect. Soon, however, his fatigue was showing, as he hung by the edge of the pool, staring at the swimming lesson kids. When I offered that we should shower, he immediately agreed, heading toward the changing room door. Bonnie had told me he really liked that part. It was then that it occurred to me I had forgotten to take any towels with me into the locker room. Dripping wet in my swim suit, I wondered how I was going to walk, with a dripping child, into the common area, to the reception desk to fetch a towel or two. As I contemplated that dilemma, Jansen walked into the changing room shower and started pulling on the faucet handle. 

Bonnie explained to me that he would entertain himself for quite some time giving himself a shower using the remote shower head. So I quickly rinsed myself and handed him the shower head. Indeed, he proceeded to rinse himself and everything else in the room, quite preoccupied as I searched for a drying tool. The paper towel dispenser offered one solution, though I could see it would take quite a bit of paper to get me to the point of being presentable to the public. Instead, I stepped into the locker room and found a hand dryer that had been mounted about six feet off of the ground. Fortunately we were alone in the locker room, because the sight of a grown man of advancing age crouching under a lone nozzle of a hand dryer might have given some pause. Even more pause when that man held up a toddler like a hot dog under the dryer, first on his back, and then rolling him over on his front side, moving him back and forth under the nozzle. As I did that, Jansen would look at me, saying with his judgy eyes, “what the heck are you doing,” followed by, “Gamma would not approve.” But it got the job done.

So well that I decided we no longer needed a towel. Getting dressed took a little longer than usual though, with clothing balling up with all the moisture. We looked quite the pair as we left the Y with wet heads, tussled hair, with shirts and pants not quite covering all exposed parts. But we were happy with our successful venture. Jansen fell to sleep in his carseat before we even left the parking lot.