Poolside

I recently received three big envelopes in the mail. Each was stuffed with old family photos. Apparently, my sisters have been emptying out my dad's house and distributing the millions of pictures he accumulated over the years.

As soon as I saw these two, I laughed. I have no idea where they were taken. I'd guess it's about 1981 or so, but the location escapes me. 

Who the heck drinks champagne from a paper cup, at the Ramada? Oh yeah, my dad.

I remember spending a lot of time in the water as a kid, both at the beach and at the pool. By the time I was four, I knew how to ask if the hotel had a pool, and figured out in about five minutes how to get there. I always had tan lines, always had tons of bathing suits, and back then, I didn't care what I looked like in them. "She swims like a fish!" my dad would say.

My Aunt Irene taught me to hold my breath and swim underwater, and how to body-surf. Mom taught me about riptides and currents, and Dad? Well, Dad mostly showed me how to look really goddamn cool.