The Children’s Exodus

Whilst cautiously edging towards the steps, eyes transfixed on the water hazard of a floor and spine attempting balance in its unfused, unsupported state, my brain had little space to take note of the squealing, squelching, splashing, and screaming that my auditory system was desperately attempting to relay. Boisterous babies and troublesome tots littered the pool. Interspersed in this mayhem were the praising parents who cooed and crowed at their child’s leg kicking and arm splaying. As I reached the steps, the realisation that there was no position that would avoid either a stomach or back attack, by a small, movement flaunting toddler, seated in my mind.  The main area of the swimming pool had become a claustrophobic cage of bodies, and in order to reach the safe haven of the adult only slow lane, I would have to manoeuvre my way through this wriggling, writhing obstacle course without so much as a foot in my stomach. Impossible it did but seem.

After prolonged hesitation on my part, my mother (Moses) stepped into cool, crowded waters and the sea of red armbands began to part. Hastily following, in the newly formed clearing, I reached the safety of the swimming lanes without so much as bruise or blemish. I began to walk, each step placing the enslavement, by my corrupt spine, further into the past. At one o’clock, a mass exodus of children took place. It was as if the Pied Piper had arrived and lured them away with his magic pipe. A stream of miniature swimsuits skipped out of sight. Peace and quiet reigned over the remaining fully grown individuals and it was clear that I was not alone in my opinion of silence, after an encounter with a multitude of minors, being one of the highest desiderata.