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Picnic fare: humble pie
Editor's note: Here's another favorite submission from our Summer Essay Contest about a memorable day at the beach. Essays will continue in Floridian through Monday.
By MARY PALMINTERI KAUFMAN
Published June 28, 2005
Diane had a face that people call "ridden hard and put away wet." Her dyed blond hair often showed dark roots before Madonna put negligence into fashion. We were unlikely friends - she, thin, uneducated and brassy, and I, beefy, graduate-degreed and mousy-browned.
We met at the community pool, both of us new arrivals to the area. Diane was a potty-mouth, and closed it only to draw on the Marlboro dangling from her lips. I first saw the cigarette snapping up and down like the baton of a demon conductor as she corrected her two preschool daughters. "Lonnie, damn it, stop splashing your sister!"
I was an elementary school teacher, now a stay-at-home mom, and I knew the damage to their self-esteem these corrections were doing, to say nothing of the vocabulary choices they'd have at the principal's office later on.
Nevertheless, distance from families far away brought our children together, and we became convenient friends. I thought myself very liberal and open-minded, befriending a person so unlike anyone I had ever known, outside of the movie world of My Cousin Vinny.
One day, we decided to go to the beach. I brought the 30+
sunscreen, whole wheat sandwiches, 100 percent fruit juice packs and apple slices. Diane brought a bottle of Coke, no cups, a big bag of Fritos and two towels.
As I was neatly arranging the lunch fare, I saw a quick movement from the corner of my eye. Diane was yanking my son out of the undertow while still holding onto her own baby, all the while cursing at all the older children to get the hell away from the water.
I did not see my son teeter to the waves. I only saw my better save my son's life.
-- Mary Palminteri Kaufman lives in Riverview.
[Last modified June 28, 2005, 10:34:28]
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