Water Bottles

It’s not much of a story, but hey, it is ready and forestalls having to write something new till tomorrow:


Ann became enamored with West Point back in the summer of 1999. She got invited to West Point for an official visit by the cross country coach that fall. While Ann was certainly old enough as a high school senior to go on the trip by herself, Jean and I decided that I should go along. Jean was teaching math at Georgia Perimeter at the time and couldn’t get away, so I was the designated parent. I was a barely out of the closet fan of all things military anyway, so I was the obvious choice.

When we got on the plane to fly up to West Point Ann and I somehow came into the possession of two empty water bottles. Whether they were ours and had been emptied by us, or left behind by previous passengers, is irrelevant to the story. What is relevant is that the water bottles were empty and had sealable screw-on caps.

Ann’s intelligence and my geekiness provided the critical mass for an animated discussion on how we might use these two bottles. After a lengthy discussion we decided upon a scientific experiment to determine the relative air pressure in Atlanta, the air pressure of the airplane’s pressurized cabin, and the air pressure of Newark, NJ, our eventual destination. It took us a few minutes to plan the experiment properly, but what we eventually agreed upon was simple and elegant.

We opened and then sealed both bottles before the airplane’s door was closed. This was to capture the air pressure in Atlanta. When we got fully in flight at our cruising altitude we decided we would observe both bottles to see if they were bloated, indicating a lower air pressure than Atlanta, or shrunken, indicating a higher pressure than Atlanta. If the air pressure was not visibly obvious via the shape of the bottles, we would open ONE of the bottles while in flight to observe air escaping, like opening a coke bottle, or air rushing in, and draw the obvious conclusions.

The one bottle needed to be opened in flight anyway to determine the air pressure of the pressurized airplane versus the air pressure of Newark. The other bottle that was sealed in Atlanta would remain sealed until we landed so we could use it to test the relative air pressure in Atlanta versus that of Newark.

Don’t get too tied up in the details. The point is that with two empty water bottles we had determined a way to measure the relative air pressures of

1. Atlanta versus the airplane’s pressurized cabin
2. The airplane’s pressurized cabin versus Newark, and
3. Atlanta versus Newark.

Given the close quarters of the airplane’s seating it was impossible for other passengers to NOT hear the high school kid and the dad discussing pressurized airplanes, relative air pressures, and the details of the experiment. I could tell the folks across the aisle were following the discussion with some interest. Given the lengthy description I’ve written here, which is as concise as I can make it, know well that our conversation on the plane was lengthy to arrive at what in retrospect seems simple and obvious. All of which is to say I would like to think we were entertaining to most of those around us, and annoying to only a few.

I regret to report that I do not exactly recall the result of opening the one bottle in flight. Neither of the two bottles was visibly bloated or shrunken during the flight. I suspect that the plane was kept slightly below normal air pressure and that air rushed into the bottle as we unscrewed the cap. The results of the experiment are really not relevant to the main point of the story, so moving on …

As the flight wore on for several hours Ann and I eventually stuffed the bottles in the seatbacks in front of us and discussed the plans for our weekend visit to West Point. Uncle Bill was living in Trenton, NJ and was picking us up at the Newark airport. Bill was driving us up to West Point Thursday evening and we would be staying in the Thayer Hotel on campus. Ann was spending a night in the barracks with the cadets, and a full day’s schedule of classes and meals. We had a lot to talk about and a lot of concerns. The details of the trip consumed us.

When the airplane came to a stop at the Newark gate we busily gathered our gear and stepped into the aisle to exit the plane. While Ann and I had completely forgotten about the experiment we had so thoroughly discussed and designed, our traveling companions on the plane had not. The folks seated around us brought us up short. “Hey! What about those water bottles? How does the air pressure here in Newark compare to Atlanta and the pressurized cabin?”

The airplane was quickly emptying out, so just a quickly we grabbed the two bottles, one labeled as being the one originally sealed in Atlanta, and the other labeled as opened in-flight and resealed in-flight. Each bottle was unsealed, observed, and the results announced to all around us. Regrettably, the results were not recorded and are forgotten now that it is 11 years later.

So what’s the point? One or more of the following:

1. Ann became incredibly tolerant of her strange father over time
2. How to entertain strangers with strange science experiments
3. How to win friends and influence people with science
4. I am just as embarrassing as my dad was
5. People just want to have fun
6. We are a family of geeks
7. I've become my father
8. Ann is a good sport
9. There is no point

I just thought it was funny that those strangers around us became so engrossed in what we were doing with the water bottles. I was also glad that they were apparently entertained rather than annoyed with us. Ann would say entertained by her and annoyed by me. Yeah, right.

Swimming Potpourri: John

For John’s “players to be named later”, aka kid(s) YEARS in the future –

This one is a mishmash of random swimming related memories about John.

1. When John was a munchkin, Jean signed him up for a program of swim lessons called “Swim America” at the Mountain Park Pool. We’d been making frequent trips to the pool as a family, so John was familiar with the water, but we wanted him to have formal training on specific skills. The program was designed to teach roughly 10 skills whereupon the child would “graduate”.

One day the instructor approached Jean after the class to say that John had passed all of the skills early on, but loved the swimming so much that she hated to graduate him out of the class. She related how he did everything she asked with the enthusiasm of a puppy fetching a ball, and clearly wanted to be asked to perform the skills over and over again. She said she would be happy to have John stay in the class until the 10-12 weeks were over as he was no trouble at all. We let him stay in the pool for about 18 years.


2. We signed John up for year-round swimming with the Dynamo Swim Club as he was entering the fifth grade in 1995. His progress was steady and continuous throughout his career. It seems like there were a couple of years when the coaches approached us in an apologetic fashion mid-year to say that John needed to be moved up to the next group. Perhaps they were embarrassed because the higher group required higher fees. They usually promoted kids at the start of a new year but they hated to waste John’s time when he was clearly ready to join the next group.  Green, Gold, Age Group 3, Age Group 1, and Seniors; it was fun, as parents, to watch the progression. There was always some new accomplishment to be vicariously proud of.


3. When John was entering the 8th grade Dynamo lost his Age Group coach, Heidi Creed. I know, “where did they look?” ha-ha. They wanted to move John and some others up to the Seniors group which previously was made up entirely of high school students. Having some middle school kids in the group was a new wrinkle and I was against it. Swimming with the Senior group meant more than just associating with high school kids who were above his maturity level. It also meant getting up at 4:30am several days a week to swim an early morning workout from 5am-7am and then wolfing down some breakfast before going to middle school. John was willing to bike to the pool in order to do it. Jean and John won the argument (of course) with Jean volunteering to drive John to the pool in the morning. John did well in the new environment.


4. I was uncomfortable that entire fall when John was swimming with the Senior group while still enrolled in middle school. When the team arranged a Halloween group outing to one of those haunted houses, I volunteered as a chaperone. I wanted to see how the high school kids treated John and whether John was being properly deferential to his more mature and physically developed teammates. John was doing their workouts, and keeping up, and as an 8th grader that could be extremely annoying to an upperclassman. I was concerned there might be some reprisals or bullying.

The group went to a fast food dump on Jimmy Carter Boulevard after the haunted house. John was appropriately deferential to his older teammates and was the last in line to get his food. When John and I reached the dining room we found all of his teammates and coaches tightly packed around a long set of tables they’d pushed together with no empty seats available for John. John and I picked a two-spot nearby so we could at least hear the conversation at the big table.

I didn’t know what the social hierarchy was. Was this snub intentional? This could have been one of those well-orchestrated pranks on the new kid to see how he was going to fit in. Was he supposed to know his place on the totem pole and sit alone, ostracized? Had John already annoyed everyone in the group, and this was his punishment, to be excluded from the group? Was John supposed to stick up for himself and demand a place at the table? I had no idea what was going on, and whether it was intentional or not.

So John and I quietly sat down at a table nearby and began to eat by ourselves. Ouch. It hurt me quite badly to see John treated this way. I don’t know if John felt the hurt. All of these ugly thoughts were racing through my head about how mean teenagers could be when Grant Kirby, one of the seniors, spoke up. I will never, ever, forget Grant Kirby saying. “Hey, John, what are you doing over there? Come on guys, make some space. Make some space for John!” And with those words he pushed his chair back and to the side to include John at the table with the others. All the others followed Grant’s lead and did likewise.

For that one single moment I will always remember Grant Kirby fondly. The exclusion of John was apparently an oversight and unintentional, and Grant Kirby’s leadership rectified what could have become a very painful memory for me and for John. I thanked Grant in front of his parents several months later. That was back in 1999, and I still remember it in 2010.

For years I’ve told John that you never know who is watching you or what they will remember about you, so you have to be your best at every moment. This one moment is the one that I will remember about Grant Kirby.


5. As the spring swim season came to a close each year Coach Hugh would make an appeal to the parents that they coordinate their summer vacation plans with him. Coach Hugh needed to know what swim meets the kids could and could not attend, and gear the workouts toward particular meets. Each season typically culminates in a meet at the highest level the swimmer can qualify for, be it state, junior nationals, region, nationals, or Olympic trials.

Our family went to Topsail Beach, NC each summer in early August. This coincided with the close of the summer swim meet season. John was qualifying for some big swim meets around John’s 8th or 9th grade year when we approached Coach Hugh to coordinate our summer trip to the beach. When we told Coach Hugh when we were planning to go to the beach he said, “Swimmers of John’s caliber don’t take vacations.” That was the end of our summer vacations at the beach; major bummer.

Jean and I have giggled over that quote for many years and repeated it to each other many times, but not because we are making fun of Hugh. It’s just that we were completely caught by surprise and had no idea that John had reached a certain “caliber”. We were astonished that such a statement would apply to OUR son. When did this happen? How did this happen? We knew he was making progress, but geez, we didn’t see this coming. “Swimmers of John’s caliber don’t take vacations.” We took it as a compliment and are still amused by our own ignorance at that time. Whodathunkit?

Coming Attractions - Future Posts

It’s not like the titles of my postings are particularly entertaining, but I thought I’d throw the titles of my next several postings for you to review. Perhaps it’s just to say, “Hey, I got some writing done recently. Wow, I’ve got eight weeks before I have to come up with something new.


1. Swimming Potpourri: John
2. Water Bottles
3. Destitute
4. The Whole Truth
5. Personal Peeves Part 1
6. Climbing Stone Mountain
7. Concert Choir Tour (Part 1) – The Announcement
8. Concert Choir Tour (Part 2) – The 400 Meters

Actually, given my recent rate of inspiration, maybe I better get to back to work.

I Miss

Placing my hands on Jean’s pregnant belly and feeling the kid’s kicks

Holding our babies

Watching Sesame Street and Mister Rogers with Ann and John

Taking our munchkins to playgrounds and chasing them through the equipment

The sound of Big Wheels on the driveway

Roughhousing with the kids

The giant swing in the back yard of our house

Sending the kids on secret missions at bedtime, and tucking them roughly into bed

Running with the kids out the front door onto the lawn whenever we hear military aircraft passing overhead

Playing the game “Mine!” in the pool

Going to the movies with Ann and John and sharing a bucket of popcorn with disgusting amounts of butter on it

Christmas mornings as a family

Our trips to the beach

Ann and John telling stories at dinner each night from their day at school and athletics

Trading the stories of races with Ann and John; Ann from track and cross country races, John from swimming races, and me from my road races

Everyone in the house leaving their separate activities to converge on the laundry basket whenever Mom called “LAUNDRY”; ditto Mom coming home calling “GROCERIES” – nobody left till the job was done

The bustle of activity after dinner clearing the table, doing dishes, putting away leftovers, taking out the garbage, and nobody leaving the kitchen until Mom left the kitchen

Ann yelling at me to “CLOSE THE DOOR” while changing shirts next to the car after a long run on a cold and windy day

John explaining incomprehensible swim workouts that would confuse Einstein

Ann and John’s hugs

I miss my kids

(love you, guys)

Cub Scouts

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John’s elementary school years – the early 1990s:


During Cub Scout Pack meetings the kids sat quietly in their seats throughout the evening’s brief program. Well mostly, kind of, sort of, occasionally, intermittently, just barely, hardly at all. That changed abruptly at the close of the meeting when the leaders asked everyone to help fold-up the tables and chairs and put them away. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, and the parents and older boys began working on the tables and chairs, the younger boys began running and screaming around the room spreading chaos in their wake. It was the moment I despised in the evening’s events.

What also lit my fuse was the rush of some dads for the door to escape their obligation to help. It wasn’t the finest exhibition of scout-like behavior for their minor minions. As much as I tried to imagine a worthy excuse for shirking their duty, I usually failed and burned angrily. It was presumptuous of them to assume that their time was more valuable than mine. What kind of rationale could they possibly give their sons on the drive home from the scout meeting for abandoning their friends? They were miserable examples of proper behavior for their children. Maybe their kids learned best by setting a bad example? Don’t grow up to be like me? Do as I say, not as I do?

John recently reminded me of a Pack meeting held back in the day when screaming kids were running all over the place, and John was helping me put away tables and chairs. I stopped for a moment to speak to another dad and John stayed by my side. No doubt John had the same inclination to run around the room screaming like the other juveniles, but by this time he’d acquired sufficient discipline in his life (instilled or inflicted?) that he knew to restrain himself or suffer my wrath, mild as it was. It was during this brief moment amidst the screaming juveniles, did I mention the screaming (?), that one of the little rodents came running by and grabbed John’s hat. I barked to John, “DON’T MOVE!”

Certainly you will recall the great delight kids get out of stealing each other’s hat and running madly about in an impromptu game of keep-away. The theft of the hat immediately angers the victim, and the perpetrator derives some deviant pleasure in further infuriating the owner by playing keep-away. The game usually ends in violence. It would be nice if the offender was the sole recipient of the violence, but all too often both parties end up harmed at the end of the “game”. Knowing all this, I told John not to move, and that if he didn’t do anything his hat would eventually come back to him in just a few minutes time.

The rodent ran around the room and eventually looked back to find that John was not angrily chasing him. He was confused. He then ran past us several times waving the hat in John’s face, no doubt with infantile teasing remarks like, “I got your ha-at”, hoping to incite the mad dog reflex that lives in all of us, but John didn’t bite. John didn’t chase, he didn’t grab for the hat; he just stood there while I resumed my conversation.

It didn’t take long before the rodent realized that he wasn’t having any fun playing this “game” by himself, and actually looked rather ridiculous running away from someone who was NOT chasing him. He eventually gave up, walked up to John and said, “Here’s your hat, John”, and held it out. John accepted his hat back, and soon thereafter we resumed our work.

Every now and then things work out the way they are supposed to.