Summer in the City...Forest City

I’m a native New Yorker. Granted, I’ve been living in Boston for 25 years but ask any New Yorker and they’ll tell you “once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker”.

I guess my roots lie in The Bronx-but that’s a story for another time.

I lived in an area of Wantagh called “Forest City”. Wantagh is located in Nassau County and for those of you unfamiliar with the Island…think Levittown or Jones Beach. I actually went to school in Levittown due to strange zoning.

Forest City was (and still is) a cute little community. When I was growing up we belonged to the pool club. You could only be a member if you lived in Forest City. The club had tennis courts, mini golf, Olympic size pool, kiddie pool, a little restaurant called the Whaler, changing pavilions and an expanse of open cement so we could bake in the sun. There was also a covered area for those who didn’t worship the sun. There was a bocce ball court and a horseshoe court where the men would hang out while their wives were gossiping about the neighbors while baking in the sun. SPF was non-existent.

Part of the summer my family traveled. The rest of the summer was spent at the pool (when we were older we would go to the beach).

My parents had rules. Oh boy. In order to be allowed to go to the pool without parents, we had to take swimming lessons. It was not an option. You want to hang out with friends at the pool? You gotta learn to swim. Not just splash around and do the dog paddle. Oh no, no. We had to take American Red Cross swim lessons right up through lifesaving. Yeah. It was grueling. Summer. Time to sleep late. But noooo. We had to get up for 8 AM lessons. And let me tell you. At that hour the pool was FREEZING. But we did it. In our black and red Speedo tank suits and bathing caps.

Once I learned how to swim with grace and style (I made that part up) my mother signed me up for synchronized swimming (I didn’t make that part up). She had a thing for Esther Williams. I think for the one summer that I did that I must have snorted the whole pool. Maybe I did it for more than one summer. I don’t remember. I probably shoved the whole sordid ordeal out of my memory bank. Then came the pageant. Good heavens. Pre-teen anxiety. Black suits, red sparkly caps and white gloves. Swimming to Moon River. Dear Lord.

When I wasn’t learning how to be the next great synchronized swimmer, I just hung out at the pool with my friends. We’d swim, we’d bake, we’d swim, we’d eat burgers and fries with gallons of ketchup at the Whaler only to be told by the parents NOT to go in the pool for at least ½ hour after we ate or we’d drown. So we sat dangling our toes in the pool watching the clock on the pavilion wall. Of course when the half hour was up, it inevitably became “adult swim” and all kids had to get out of the pool for 10 minutes so the grown-ups could enjoy a little peace and quiet while paddling around.

We used to surface dive in the deep end of the pool (thank you synchronized swimming). We’d find all sorts of loose change that would fall out from the pockets of the men’s swim trunks. We’d pool our money and buy fries and drown them in gallons of ketchup and salt. To this day when I smell fries and ketchup it brings up memories of childhood summers. There were also diving boards. The high board used to freak me out. Yes, we had to learn how to dive as well. So well rounded. The boys preferred to do cannonballs off the low boards. Woe to all the sun bakers sitting anywhere near the low boards.

I haven’t been swimming in chlorine in many years. Really bad for color treated hair. One of these days when I dare to squeeze into a bathing suit I’ll hop into a pool and do a little swimming. Just don’t ask me to do any synchronized swimming. It’s just not happening. EVER.