Nine-year-old Joshua Kellogg had yet to get out of the small in-ground pool Vince had installed that year. As his cherished summer was about to come to an end with the resumption of the next day’s classes, he was not about to waste his last vacation day and engrossed himself in the summer’s two current favorite toys — a remote-control submarine and a slingshot borne parachutist.
Thomas had given his only nephew this submarine for his recent birthday, and looked on as Josh demonstrated its many features. Four padded, wrought-iron rockers had been set up beside the pool. The grill was close by.
Thomas was content to sit in his rocker with a frosty lemonade in hand, listening to his nephew extol the sub’s amazing capabilities, and watching Vince double-check the condition of the red-hot charcoals.
“A fire’s not ready for cooking until those coals are pure white,” Vince said. He took his outdoor cooking most seriously. “That was another thing Pop was always harping on. Like he always used to say, good grilling starts with the fire.”
“Uncle Thomas!” cried Joshua from the pool’s shallow end. “I can get my submarine to travel underwater to the deep end, then get it to return right between my legs.”
“Betcha a quarter you can’t,” dared Thomas.
“A dollar and you’re on,” Joshua answered.
Thomas agreed with a thumbs-up. As Josh manipulated the battery-powered controls to initiate this intricate underwater maneuver, Vince flattened out the smoking gray charcoal briquets with a pair of tongs, then sat down beside his brother. He took an appreciative sip of his longneck Rolling Rock, then peered up into a clear, blue sky.
“I tell you, little brother, it doesn’t get much better than this.”
Thomas nodded affirmatively. “You won’t be getting any arguments from me.”
A low-flying 727 that had just taken off from National Airport screamed overhead. Thomas waited for the throaty roar of the plane’s engines to fade before adding, “I wonder what it’s going to be like three days from now?”
Vince looked at his watch and grunted. “Let’s see: If we’re able to keep on schedule, three days from now, we should be somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, decked out in our tuxedos and getting ready for another calorie-rich, five star gourmet dinner aboard the QE2.”
“This morning on NPR, I heard a feature story on the summit,” revealed Thomas. “They made it a point to really emphasize President Li’s difficult decision to accept the G-7’s invitation.”
“That guy sure has guts,” observed Vince. “The buzz at the White House is optimistic as all get-out. Just think of it, the People’s Republic of China, the most populous nation on earth, finally taking its rightful place at the table.”
“Dad!” Joshua from the pool. “My sub’s sunk!”
The large Plexiglas submarine lay immobile on the bottom of the deep end. Vince shouted back, “It’s probably just the batteries, son. Put on your goggles. Show your uncle how I taught you to be a frogman, and go rescue your sub.”
Joshua grabbed his yellow rubber face mask, which had been sitting on the pool’s coping. Like a professional, he spat on the inside lens, to keep it from fogging, donned the mask and took off like a tadpole toward the deep water.
“Remarkable,” observed Joshua’s proud uncle. “And to think that last year he couldn’t even swim.”
“He’s sure growing up fast,” remarked Vince. “Too fast, for this old man.”
An introspective moment of silence was broken by the overflight of yet another 727.
“Must be an air-traffic-control glitch at National,” offered Vince.
“It’s highly unusual to route traffic over the city on a weekend.”
“National’s not one of my favorite airports to fly into,” added Thomas.
“The runways don’t leave room for error, and the noise restriction and security-overflight limitations are a real headache.”
“I hear you, little brother. But it sure is convenient as all hell.
Will you be taking the first shuttle up to La Guardia tomorrow morning?”
“That’s still the plan,” said Thomas.
“Did you ever get those seasick patches you wanted?”
“Would you believe the pharmacy doesn’t have them in stock?” replied Thomas. “Something about a quality control problem at the plant.”
“Why don’t I see if Dr. Patton can get you some? From what I hear, the President’s not much of a sailor either, and if those patches are as good as you say, we’ll have our fair share available to us.”
“Thanks, Vince. I sure wouldn’t want to ruin the family name by tossing my cookies in the middle of the most historic summit in modern times.”
“Hell, you’ll do just fine. And just think, for one whole week, you can kiss D. C. goodbye.”
Thomas grinned. “Yeah, it will be nice to finally see what life outside the Beltway looks like. I’ve been working a desk much too long.”
“You did say something about being hungry for adventure,” Vince reminded. “It looks like your time is finally here.”
“Do we have any more batteries, Dad?” asked Joshua, who had arrived back in the pool’s shallow end with the disabled sub in tow.
“That’s a negative, son,” retorted Vince. “Why don’t you show Uncle Thomas your new parachute launcher?”
Dropping the sub, Joshua climbed up to the top step of the pool and grabbed a large wooden slingshot that lay on the dry concrete. Tucked in the thick elastic band was a hand-sized, plastic soldier with a parachute draped over its back.
“Wait till you get a look at this, Uncle Thomas!”
Joshua aimed the slingshot skyward and launched the toy paratrooper.
The figure shot thirty feet into the air, before gravity took over and the parachute deployed. Because of the lack of wind, the toy floated almost straight downward, into the deep end of the pool.
While Joshua went to retrieve it, his father turned to Thomas. “The boy loves that toy almost as much as his sub. I think we might have a potential airborne candidate.”
Thomas winced. “I’m sure Kelly would love that.”
“He could do worse,” countered Vince. “And besides, you can’t tell me that you don’t miss jumping yourself. I know that I do.”
Thomas replied while watching his nephew prepare the wet paratrooper for another launch, “As far as I’m concerned, that toy is as close to a parachute as I ever want to get.”
The sound of a sliding door opening behind them signaled the return of Kelly, Brittany, and Max, the family’s standard poodle. While Max made a mad dash to the water’s edge, Kelly set the platter of raw chicken breasts that she was carrying on the redwood picnic table beside the grill. She was noticeably pregnant, yet that didn’t stop her from being her usual animated self.
“Brittany was telling me about last night’s play at the Kennedy Center, Thomas. How do you compare it to the original?”
Brittany took a seat beside Thomas as he answered. “It was interesting.
West Side Story has always been one of my favorite musicals. But a modern version featuring the Crips and Bloods — it’s topical, but it’s stretching the envelope a bit too far for my conservative tastes.”
“I understand that you managed to get tickets to next month’s visit by the Bolshoi Ballet,” Kelly added. “Don’t tell me that you’re turning cultural on us, Thomas.”
Vince looked at his brother in astonishment, then addressed Brittany with an all-knowing grin. “You actually got him to commit to taking you to the ballet? My, my, the relationship is turning serious.”
Their laughs were broken by the arrival of a dripping wet Joshua and an excited Max.
“Hey, Uncle Thomas. Since you used to be a real live paratrooper, why don’t you give my toy a try?”