The Little Boy Inside

Wearing only a tan-through Speedo I pour myself coffee standing beside a woman clad in some kind of uniform with her brown hair in a tight bun. In front of us is an African American family dressed in bright yellow and orange shirts with matching jams. Behind me are college girls wearing bikinis followed by an idiotic guy wearing a purple LSU jersey. One thing I will say about cruising is that the culture clashes are quite stark. Having embarked out of Jacksonville though, this one is really a southern based multiculturalism. “We drove all the way from Arkansas,” a boy told me last night through a deep southern drawl. “It was the longest two days of my life.” He is fourteen. He hasn’t met a long day yet. After being challenged to race him down the dual water slide on the back of the boat I began teaching him about long days by beating him two out of three times. “Kicked your ass,” I told him. “You did,” he agreed in the southern drawl. It is fair to say that the “little boy” inside of me never grew up. Just ask anyone I’ve ever worked with or spent a substantial amount of time. I believe play and having a good time absolutely must co-exist with work! I think that’s how I survived for so long in my career … I made homelessness fun! Now, at 56 years old, I’m racing 14 year old kids down water slides, encouraging one to take his droopy jams that don’t cover his underwear off because they slow his swimming down (he did), and teaching Maddie how to be picked up by aforementioned 14 year old boys. As night fell on the boat, Sarah and I sat on the edge of the pool literally surrounded by fifteen or so kids. We were the loan adults included in the group. Of course Sarah was wearing a bikini and 14 year old boys are learning how to master lust and that may have had something to do with it. I’m not especially self-conscious either. Even when I get in trouble I have a tendency just to keep on keeping on. Yesterday the girls and I made our way to the end of a concrete pier that had a “No Diving” sign on it. I immediately dove into the crystal clear water of the Gulf Stream. Just as immediately, a Bahamian Police officer informed me that I can’t do this. He was pretty brief about it, probably because I was wearing aforementioned tan-through Speedo. Thanking him for the warning, I strolled to the end of the structure and cannonballed into the water. Within five minutes there were twenty kids jumping off the end of the pier with me and the girls. Pretty soon, adults joined in. Even in my sad, lonely and tired days, I found things to laugh at. In the midst of the tired fatigue that divorce brings, I was talking to one of my best friends about relationships with women. The conversation turned to sex so I asked Johnny O how many women he’d slept with. “I dunno,” he replied shrugging his shoulders, “couple of thousand.” Now that’s funny! One of the reasons I love Johnny O so much is the “little boy” inside of him and the “little boy” inside of me really get along! We hang around the “little boys” in Jodee, Sean, O Johnny and Whitley (OK, the little boy inside of Whitley is a Nerd). Throw in the “little girls” inside of Judy O, Cheryl, Joanie, Roma, Julia-Just-Julia, O Judy … wait a minute! … I’m naming most of the people I know on Tybee Island. Obviously I like to hang around people who keep their “inner child” alive and thriving. I got up early today because I’m excited. It’s a day at sea. Scoping out our chairs on the kids play deck, where the water slides are, I’ve already reserved the best ones for us. The sun is throwing a blanket of white blinding light on the ocean. The morning is warm without being hot and the breeze is cool but light. It’s a perfect day to be at sea! A guy wearing an orange Syracuse jersey interrupts these thoughts. He has a shaved head and a salt-and-pepper goatee. He appears to be educated. “Excuse me,” he politely asks, “did you purchase those on ship?” He’s pointing at my tan through Speedos. “Sorry, but I didn’t.” “Oh,” he sighs crestfallen. Yep. It’s just me. Let the day begin!