Bourgeois Dilemma #22: my kid freaked out at the country club

Summer is a time for fun by the pool, tennis in whites and sailing lessons. At least it always has been for me. though most would expect it, i don't golf except the mini kind, and not so well. having been raised in a very "posh" town i spent a great deal of time in my childhood at country clubs (in fact, on the once night a week when the pool was open late and the fathers would come straight from the train to dine with their families pool side, when they turned the spot lights on my water logged eyes would create enormous halos around each light giving me an 8 year old trip of sorts) and while I don't belong to any in my real grown up life, I know the drill. in fact, about a year after my parents left my childhood home and moved to another city, i spent a weekend in my hometown for a friend's wedding and invited some gals to have lunch by the pool the day before the wedding. we sauntered in, took the little towels and dined on salads, diet cokes and relaxed and chatted all afternoon. after the weekend, I was catching up with my mom on the phone and told her we'd had such a nice lunch and that she should just send me the bill when it came so that I could reimburse her. "But honey, we aren't members there any more" was her response. Who knew? They seemed perfectly happy to take the order when I confidently signed "S-611" on the chit. I've not followed through on the subsequent temptation to crack the member letter number code at some completely random club and see if I can hang out for a while. maybe it's not so easy now that the world has gotten so fancy but who knows.

since old habits die hard, my parents joined another club in another town years later so as to be able to play bridge, tennis and entertain their grandchildren. one summer day when annie was about 4, we were enjoying labor day weekend at mom and dad's condo and happily went to the club "family festival" closing weekend party and award ceremony. all was well, annie played in the baby pool, we sipped iced teas and had chef salad for lunch. round about 2, we suffered through the presentation of "awards" given of course to each and every little muffy and timmy who had survived a rigorous summer of tennis, swimming and golf "camp." and then the bell rang and we were invited to play in the bouncy castle, slippy slide and similar games that had been tempting annie all afternoon. always an independent child, she strode off, "walking with purpose" as opposed the the illegal poolside run. she got about half way around the pool and in an instant was streaming back to me screaming her head off with blood seeping out of her second toe. Now, I know better than anyone that "we don't scream at the club." I snatched her up and ran into the lifeguard's room doing everything short of putting my hand over her mouth in an effort to get her to stop screaming. "you have just stubbed your toe. stop crying. calm down." over and over again in what i thought was a calm but clear voice that might just cut through the screams. this went on for a full and endless five minutes until a perfectly lovely woman in a skirted bathing suit ran into the room with a stunned expression on her face and said "you might want to turn this off". This being the PA system that had been left on after the awards ceremony, emitting it's screeching broadcast of my dulcet joan crawford tones.

I held Annie down while the 16 year old sunburnt to a crisp lifeguard put a band aid on her toe and we got out of there as quickly as humanly possible. 30 or 40 minutes later, i noticed a trail of blood making its way from the tv room to the porch where annie was being read to by my angelic and ever patient mother. i am not good with blood at all and forced my sweet husband to inspect. I won't go into the details since it's just past lunchtime somewhere, but the dr. at the emergency room had a medical term for "your toenail was totally ripped out of it's bed" - just searching for that has rendered me on the verge of passing out so you will have to see if you can find it yourself.

thank god, she was forbidden from getting her foot wet for the rest of the vacation week so we didn't have to turn up there again until a full year later. if the members of the club had any memory, they didn't let on. annie, needless to say, could recount the story to you verbatim even today 6 years later and never fails to remind me about the trauma.

oh for a rum punch by the pool.