Shelly and I had discussed child-rearing, and I thought we were on the same sheet of music. I was raised in a strict yes-sir-no-ma'am atmosphere, not military, not abusive, but respectful of one's elders or else. Shelly quit her job and stayed at home to raise the boys, and I naively believed she was training them as we had discussedThe first time it really struck me just how much she was sabotaging me was when James was, oh, I think seven, and John five. James responded to a question I asked by saying, "Yeah."I looked him in the eye and said, "I believe that's 'Yes, sir, ' young man."Shelly was sitting nearby. She jumped up and hissed, "You fucking control freak! Let the child talk the way he wants to!"It startled me, and scared the boys, such was the fury of her tirade. The boys started crying, and though I tried to comfort them, she was having none of it. She used more choice verbal morsels on me, and herded them out of the room and into their bedrooms.When she emerged, she did not. I expected to feel my shield taking some hits the first time I dropped over twenty feet into one of the lakes. Instead it felt like I had dived onto a bed covered by a foot think mattress topper made of cotton balls. We all started doing flips, twists, and dives into the foam that we would never try off a diving board at the pool.They should use these for young divers that want to go to the Olympics one day. Not a single one of my belly flops into the foam hurt at all.Of course there was another reason none of us would try our crazy dives if this was a real pool. Skimpy swimsuits. A few of the girls here were actually wearing one-piece suits and only two boys had on actual trunks that tied. The rest were in what we had been swimming in earlier or the loose clothes they had put on after stripping off their wet bathing suits. While it was softer, I still wasn’t the only bare butt diving around in the foam lakes looking for my suit after it caught on one of the firmer blocks. I had to.
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