PSR_61

46 | park slope reader
[ DISPATCHES FROM BABYVILLE ]
WHAT HAPPENS IN THE SPRINKLERS . . .
When I think “summer in the city,” I think “sprinklers.” I know Memorial Day is the official start of
summer, but in my mind, it’s the day they turn the sprinklers on at our local playground. Sprinklers,
like bubbles, are the kind of thing that hold children in thrall, but hold absolutely no appeal for adults.
It’s not just young children that delight in sprinklers, either; even kids dancing on the precipice of
adolescence get into them. I can’t decide if it’s the sort of thing you genuinely lose the taste for, like Pop
Rocks, or if we grown-ups don’t see the appeal because we don’t partake. Maybe if I gave the sprinklers
a whirl, I’d find myself shrieking with delight too.
BY NICOLE CACCAVO KEAR, ARTWORK BY HEATHER HECKEL
My kids clock a lot of time in the sprinklers in the summer;
we pop by for a soak nearly every day. Which makes it
somewhat inconceivable that every time we arrive, I am
not prepared. I never have any gear.
It’s as if the sprinklers are a total surprise, every time.
Like, “Oh wow, look at that. Wish I would’ve known. I
would’ve brought our stuff!”
Th e
sprinklers
are like
kiddie
Las Vegas.
What
happens
in the
sprinklers
stays in the
sprinklers.
clothed.
If I were the sort to invoke
expressions like, “There are two kinds
of parents in the world,” I might do
so now. I might suggest there’s one
kind who always comes equipped with
bathing suits and towels and even, yes
-- how do they do it? -- water shoes.
And then there’s the kind that just lets
the kids get soaked while fully dressed.
That would be reductive, of course.
There are infinitely more kinds of
parents. I, myself, am the kind that,
with huge, even excessive effort,
manages to bring our sprinkler gear
to the playground 2 to 4 times before
finding that the whole proposition
is, let’s be honest, destined to fail, and
thus, destined to make me feel terrible.
So about a week into summer, I decide
we’ll just abandon the ambitious plans
and be content, again, to get wet while
The trouble is, once you forgo gear, you enter a hazy
and perplexing landscape filled with questions. The Rules
of Sprinkler Conduct are far from clear . . . or instinctive.
Questions abound.
Regarding sprinkler apparel:
If your child is young, is it ok for him or her to go in the
sprinkler in their diaper? Or underwear? Is the graduation
to underwear an indication that your child is too old to be
half-naked in the sprinkler?
Also, footwear.
Do they really need shoes in the sprinkler? How long
do tetanus shots last for anyway?
And then, water toys.
If you rinse it out thoroughly, is an abandoned Italian
ice squeezey cup an acceptable replacement for a water
pail?
In point of fact, there is only one thing I know for sure
about the sprinkler, one golden inviolable rule that must
never, ever be broken.
That rule is:
Do not drink the sprinkler water.
DO NOT DRINK THE SPRINKLER WATER.
“Why not?” asked my four-year-old daughter, when I
bellowed these words at her one afternoon. She was in her
underwear and a T shirt, barefooted, splashing happily in
a gargantuan sprinkler puddle at our playground. It’s never
been clear to me whether these puddles are intentional,
a purposeful part of the “natural landscape” aesthetic, or
accidental, the result of unspeakably gross things clogging
the drain. Either way, it’s not the sort of puddle you
want your child to submerge herself in. So, my skin was
crawling when she plopped down right in the middle of it,
as if she was in an infinity pool in the Bahamas. But when
she lowered her mouth to the surface of the puddle and
readied to take a big slurp, I jumped to action.
“No! Stop! DO NOT DRINK THAT WATER!”
And she asked, “Why not?”
“It’s dirty,” I told her. Stupidly. Like a rookie.
“No it’s not,” she retorted, lowering her head again.
I guess her thinking was that because she could still see
through the water, it was clean enough to consume.
“It’s full of COXSACKIE!” I told her urgently. “You
don’t want to get coxsackie, do you? Again?”
When the going gets tough, the tough invoke coxsackie.