Punchline | Alexandra Winder

In my hometown there isn’t a lot to do during the summer. Most kids go to the swimming pool everyday, which we did a lot as kids, but we also went to one of the four reservoirs we have around Blanding.

When you have a boat, or just a little extra time, it was always a treat to get to go swimming at the reservoir. For some reason it’s better than the filtered pool that’s highly chlorinated to disguise the fact that people pee in it. No, instead we’d rather go to a place with no filter, lots of fish, their guts, and who knows what else. It just seemed more adventurous. There were no crawdads in the swimming pool we could catch and torture.

One day, when I was about three or four, my dad decided he was going to take my older brothers and I to the reservoir to get us out of my mom’s hair for awhile, so he told each of us to go get our swimming suits, towels and some shoes on. Well, I was excited to be going, so I ran up to my room, threw on my suit, grabbed a towel, and put on my cowboy boots. When I came marching down the stairs, my dad looked up and sighed, then said, “Honey, those aren’t reservoir shoes.”

I looked at him defiantly and said, “But Daddy, I can’t find my dam shoes!”