Danger! Puddles Can Be Deeper Than They Appear: A GAGA Sparked Remembrance
When I was browsing the pieces at the GAGA exhibit I saw this painting and stopped in my tracks. I loved the detail and the perspective of standing at the base of a hill and looking up to the area where you’re going to climb, but this wasn’t the main draw to me. Seeing it took me strait back to my childhood and a wayward adventure that went south.
When I was nine we were living in a nice middle class subdivision that had a small strip of forest that ran through it. I was a bit of an explorer and, despite my dad’s warnings about Water Moccasins, I loved to go on hiking excursions and I usually dragged a friend along.
One Saturday morning I got a friend of mine and delved into those woods. As usual we followed the stream, hopping across it as was necessary. I always prided myself on my trailblazing skills and the fact that I was usually the one that didn’t have a water related accident. This time started out no different. As I gracefully hoped, skipped, and leapt through the forest my friend couldn’t help but slip, slide, and fall into the river.
We had followed the river to where it emptied into a large field which was right behind his house and the end destination of our journey. Unfortunately, we had to cross the river again to get there. I poised myself at the edge of the stream before gracefully leaping to the other side. My friend was less graceful. In fact, he slipped ankle deep into the stream. I laughed at him before leaping towards a shallow puddle.
The puddle was not shallow. Like diving into a pool, I plunged into the water and, when my feet touched bottom, the water was up to my chest. I quickly decided that time spent at my friend’s house was not an option. I crawled out of my watery mess and walked the two blocks back to my house, in the midst of a mid-February morning.