if i only had about 5 more hours in a day, i might not be so frazzled. i’ve cut out eating and sleeping, thereby reclaiming some portion of time wasted in an average day. but surely there must be more to be had? i don’t see why, in the year 2005, we can put a man on the moon but we can’t master time yet. i’m bitterly disappointed. between work and school and jacob’s basketball and christmas and field trips and housework and homework and doctor’s appointments and the gym and everyotherlittlething in the world that needs tending to, i’m afraid a measly 24 hr day isn’t going to cut it anymore. someone see to this, would you?

it’s funny how time just seems to drag on and last forever when you’re a kid. then you reach adulthood and someone hits the fastforward button and leaves it there. when i was little we used to go to this park every summer in south carolina called sesquintennial park. we just called it sesqui. there was a lake with cool, dark water and a floating raft set way out in the deep with a regular diving board and a high dive. my whole family would camp there at the park surrounded by other families with children our own age. it was like a giant sleepover once a year.

down by the lake was a playground with dangerous toys the likes of which probably wouldn’t pass inspection today. i would imagine they’ve all been replaced by “child-friendly” jobbers made of plastic and not at all fun. we spent hours and days running the wood plank of the enormous jungle gym pretending we were pirates over looking the lake. if you got a 35″ splinter in your foot? well, it’s your own damn fault for going barefoot. the threat of having to stay off the equipment kept us from complaining too much about how painful it was playing on the equipment.

there was a concession stand near the playground and picnic tables and bbq pits surrounded it, were scattered throughout the park. we’d scrape together change to stand in line for pop ice and lemonade and an occasional hot dog or bag of boiled peanuts, if it wasn’t too close to suppertime. summers in south carolina are hot. so pop ice and lemonade was a necessity, while boiled peanuts are just for fun.

we would run down the sandy bank of the lake and dive in; screaming our bravado behind us about how, this year, we were all going to conquer that high dive. it was probably ten or twelve feet from the top of the high dive to the water, but to us it may as well have been a hundred. my two older sisters and i had no problem with it in general, but the first jump of the season was always a little daunting. my brother had to be cajoled and ridiculed into going, but he finally conquered it. lifeguards tanned to the color of cornflakes stood watching. a couple on the beach and one on the floating raft itself. what scared us more than the height of the jump was the threat of water mocassins. though we never actually saw one in the large area roped off for swimming, that didn’t stop the legends from circulating. this kid reported to us all over the campfire one night that he knew a guy who was friends with a guy that knew this girl who jumped straight to her death from the high dive into a bed of water mocassins. we believed every word. we oooohd and ahhhhhd each tall tale and swallowed hard lumps in our throat. but it never stopped us from jumping, it only heightened the thrill and gave us more cause to brag to the scaredy cats who wouldn’t risk it.

there was a long, narrow path that led from the lake to the campground that had a tree canopy. walking the dirt path you were under complete cover of trees bent forward, meeting each other from either side halfway in the middle. sometimes snakes would drop from the trees and we’d scream and run, making short work of what typically seemed a long path. i used to love to wander that path slowly, pretending i was lost in some deep, amazon forest. i’d drag my feet and look up at the sky, trying to see if i could make it out alive by looking for the sun, hidden by the trees who were conspiring against my rescue. until something rustled in the woods. then my pace would quicken and i would immediately grow bored with that game.

the families who camped with us were from all different backgrounds and comprised of lots of different types. some were quiet and kept to themselves, some were loud and drunk the entire time they were there. some were just like us; outgoing and friendly, but minding our own business when things took a turn for the worse. as things sometimes do when so many different people end up in one place.

those summer trips lasted foreveeeeeeeeeeer. the days stretched out before us long and luxurious with little or no care. a week of camping seemed more like six. we made all those moments live. time was of little consequence to us, as it was passing too slowly to care. how disappointing to grow up and lose that sense of time. were i to walk that dirt path from lake to camp today i doubt i would drag my feet in the sand, pick honeysuckle, or stop to investigate a frog under a rock. i would walk quickly, with purpose, to get to the other side; ignoring all the great little things in the wake of my hurried footsteps. and. what a fool i’d be. kids, man, they’re a lot smarter than we think.