White Lies & Water Slides

There was mumbling among the adults as we got ready to go to the pool. You know the kind of mumbling I’m talking about; when adults are discussing something they don’t want the kids to hear so they mumble pieces of the conversation when they think the kids are out of earshot. Why were we mumbling? We were trying to convince ourselves it was okay to lie.

P had been waiting for years, literally, to be tall enough to ride the water slide at City Park in Fort Collins. He finally hit the height requirement a few months before our trip out to Fort Collins.

It was only when we scanned the city’s website to see when the pool was open that we saw there was also an age requirement to go on the water slide. He was nearly old enough, but not quite. Ruh roh, Shaggy.

P was sad. And very disappointed. So we mumbled.

We could just say he’s eight years old.

Yeah, we’ll just say he’s eight.

It’s not like he can’t swim. We know he’s a strong swimmer.

It’s just a white lie, I told myself as we put all our pool stuff in the back of the car.

Then, on the drive to the pool, I started thinking. What message was I sending my son? That it’s okay to lie if you don’t like the rules? That you should only follow the rules if it’s convenient? Hmmm. I decided we’d follow the rules, which were VERY clearly painted on the wall across from the ticket window: NO Exceptions.

But Grandma, ever the optimist, suggested P ask the lifeguard if it would be okay to take the swimming test to go on the waterslides even though we wasn’t eight years old. It couldn’t hurt to ask, she said. So I watched him walk all the way around the pool to the gaggle of lifeguards where the head lifeguard gave him the okay.

He took the test while all three of us adults watched nervously as he swam back and forth across the pool…and he passed! They slapped a golden, plastic bracelet around his wrist and it was official. He could ride the water slide!

Would P have had fun on the water slide that day if we decided to tell a little white lie that day? Most definitely. Would he have been proud (puffed out chest proud) of it and remembered that day, that accomplishment, every time he looked down at his wrist? No. And you know what? He wore that plastic wristband for 10 months. He wore it until it literally fell off.

I know it won’t always be this easy for him to do the right thing, but I’m glad we stopped mumbling. After all, if it’s not something we discuss out loud it’s probably a bad idea, right? Kind of like scarfing down candy bars in the bathroom where no one can hear you opening the wrappers. But that’s a story for another day.