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Looking for Eddie Field

Eddie Field had ears that stuck out like mug handles from either side of his head and a face that was a constellation of freckles.

He wore his hair in a Boy’s Regular barber cut, cropped close to his head, which only served to emphasize both the freckles and the unfortunate angle of his ears.

Eddie and I were in the same grade at school, and our parents belonged to the same summer swim club. I saw a lot of him as a result, but he wasn’t a friend, exactly.

The club was a sort of working-class version of a Country Club—no tennis courts, no rolling golf green. It did have shuffleboard courts, though, and one or two of the courts were actually playable, if you avoided hitting the weeds forcing through the cracks in the cement.

There was a musty-smelling piano in the clubhouse that retained most of its keys, and a bumper pool table that we played occasionally, passing the lone surviving cue.

The real pearl of the place, however—the real reason that the large working class families I knew paid $100 a summer (a fortune!) to belong there—was its in-ground swimming pool.

In my town, no one I knew had a yard big enough to house an in-ground pool, let alone an income big enough to put one there, especially one this large. It was what my father would call a “beaut.”

I don’t know how big it actually was, but at age 5 or 6 I thought its proportions epic: as big as an NFL field and deep as an ocean. That pool was the first in-ground swimming pool I’d ever seen, the one I learned to swim in.

And I thought this was what wealth itself would feel like: having things so large and grand that you could dive in and get lost in them.

The Deep End of Childhood

The pool was the domain of us kids, except on weekends, when the fathers came and would swim, too. But during the week, the pool was packed with only us kids while our mothers watched from the grass beyond the pool’s cement apron, smoking cigarettes and sipping Tab.

Sometimes a mother would join us, stretching a bright rubbery bathing cap over her head and dipping a toe to take the temperature of the water. I thought it funny that our mothers wore bathing caps, which were often covered with a riot of rubbery flowers, because most of them didn’t go under at all but instead swam like my mother did: lowering themselves gingerly into the deep end and then doing a measured crawl or side-stroke to the shallow end, where they’d step out, remove the bathing cap with a grisly snap, and pat their hair back into place.

Watching them, I dreaded growing up if it meant not appreciating the outstanding bounce of the springboard that could ricochet even the smallest and lightest kid nearly to the bottom of the pool.

Fully immersed as I was in the deep end of childhood, being a grown-up didn’t look like a lot of fun. Given that most of my generation has yet to attain adulthood, I’m guessing most of us still feel that way.

My best friend during those summers was a girl exactly my age named Diana. She was everything I wasn’t… gregarious, easy-going—and she knew how to dance.

Best of all, she was from a large, lively family—she was one of eight—and it gave her a sort of leverage and authority around the pool that impressed me and attracted me all the more, especially since most of my home life consisted of my being alone with my parents.

One of her older teenage sisters was a lifeguard, and the other worked the snack shack. In later years, Diana and I would work the snack counter, too. But when we were about 10 or 11, that kind of big-girl responsibility still seemed far out of reach.

While I spent most of the school year cultivating a persona that flew decidedly below anyone’s radar—below the notice of classroom teachers, CCD teachers, my parent’s friends, my friend’s parents, priests, aunts, uncles, administrators, or anyone in a position of authority or influence, as well as boys of any kind and the tougher-talking girls in my grade—things were different in the summer.

Happily ensconced in my friendship with Diana, and, by extension, her whole family and both the boys and girls they knew at the pool, I felt less shy, less chronically embarrassed, more free.

Besides, while I still found it excruciating when either an adult or a boy would address me directly, the pool was a place where kids were left mostly to run together in packs, so neither happened too often.

Eddie Field was part of that pack, too. When I search my memory for specifics, I can’t place him exactly. But I know that he was always there, somewhere in the background, overshadowed, like me, by the more animated among us.

And so it went.

Most days, I spread my towel on the grass next to Diana, and for the first time in my life took pleasure in being part of a larger group. Being part of something larger than myself, I realized happily, made me dwell less on my own shortcomings.

One day, we had been swimming as usual—in and out of the pool, bumming Mike and Ikes from Diana’s sister at the snack bar, and shooting discs on the shuffleboard court, when the sky turned dark and thunder sounded in the distance.

Diana’s oldest sister, as lifeguard, blew her whistle and ordered us out of the pool. The temperature had dropped a little, too, so I pulled a gray sweatshirt over my head and, eventually, untied my bikini top and slipped it off from underneath. The wet suit against my skinny body was uncomfortable and gave me goosebumps.

The overcast sky threatened to rain, but didn’t. So we played some more outside of the pool—horsing around on some rusty playground equipment, later standing in a big group near the lifeguard stand talking and laughing and waiting for the sun to reappear. I was on the periphery of a group of other preteens teasing a sandy-haired friend of Diana’s sister—he was possibly her boyfriend—for not removing his mirrored aviator sunglasses even when the day clouded.

Well, he said with an easy shrug as he flashed a heartbreakingly cute smile, “They look cool.”

That made some in our group whoop and tease all the more. One of the boys tried to grab them, and the boyfriend swatted the hand away as easily as he would a gnat, and pretty soon someone asked Diana’s sister if we couldn’t go back in the pool because the thunder had moved on. She said fine, we could, but to listen carefully in case she called us out again, and before she had that sentence fully out of her mouth the most bald-faced boys were already jumping back in the pool and calling for the rest of us to join them.

Diana and our other friend, Joanne, jumped back in, too, and before I knew what I was doing, exactly, I had lifted my sweatshirt off and started to toss it back on the grass behind me with the intent to join them.

Only I didn’t—Diana was already signaling frantically at me from the pool—and instead of tossing my sweatshirt aside I balled it up suddenly and hugged it to my naked chest.

But I was a little too late: Everyone, or so it seemed, had already noticed my mistake. I had fully exposed to all of them the small, swollen mounds that passed for my breasts in those days. The boys in the pool collected at my feet, swarming like rats around a morsel in the water, and they were all pointing and laughing and jeering.

Those horrible boys, who never know when to quit a joke.

On the deck, a few others who also hadn’t jumped in yet, were pointing and laughing, too. All, that is, except for one: he caught my eye with deep embarrassment of his own, the tips of those famous ears went crimson, and he turned away. It was Eddie Field.

Whether he was embarrassed for me or because of me, whether he turned to avoid the sight of my naked breasts because it was excruciating for him, too, or because he knew it was excruciating for me… didn’t really matter: All I knew was that he left me some fragment of dignity, and I was painfully grateful for it.

The Truth Is

I’d like to say that the moment ignited a respectful friendship between Eddie and me that lasted for many years.

I’d like to say that I ring him up occasionally or shoot him an email.

But the truth is that I don’t know what happened to Eddie Field.

The few times I saw him in school or at church after that, I avoided him, and he avoided me. It was all too much for both of us, I guess.

By the time I was in high school, the swim club property had been sold to a developer who razed the clubhouse and snack shack, filled the pool with dirt, and erected some kind of industrial building.

A few months ago I emailed my old friend Diana and asked whether she knew what happened to Eddie. She said she didn’t know. Neither did our mutual friend, Lisa.

For my part, I grew up (and my breasts grew bigger), and eventually I went to a different school. After that, I more or less forgot about Eddie.

But my daughter Caroline, lying in the dark at night, forever stalling bedtime by asking me to tell her a story, has gotten impressively good at jogging my memory.

“Do you have any scars? From what?” she’ll ask.

A year or two ago, it was, “What was your most embarrassing moment when you were my age?”

And that question dislodged from somewhere in my memory that day at the pool and Eddie Field.

Since then, Eddie has taken on epic dimensions — like the club’s swimming pool. He’s the hero of the story I tell about him. And around our house he’s larger than life.

“Let me guess,” says my partner, V., as he crams an empty tomato can into an overflowing bin, “Eddie would have taken the trash out already.”

My daughter, who doesn’t suffer gladly any boy her age, deigns to deem the least-icky boy in her class barely “half an Eddie.” (I love that!)

Eddie has become the measure of all men I’ve known, past and present, and I am lucky enough to have met a few Eddies in my life.

I can only hope the same for Caroline.

But as I tell her and her brother… you have to have a sense of what you’re looking for before you can find it.

Unless, of course, you find yourself accidentally bare-breasted.

Total Annarchy

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58 Responses to Looking for Eddie Field

  1. A poignant and beautiful post. Thanks for sharing it.

  2. A poignant and beautiful post. Thanks for sharing it.

  3. Thanks, Annie. You’ve taken me back to the days of summer…of innocent play…and those horridly awkward pubescent moments… ahh the memories, and the horror! :-)

    Who knows? Maybe this article will surface Eddie! :-)

  4. Thanks, Annie. You’ve taken me back to the days of summer…of innocent play…and those horridly awkward pubescent moments… ahh the memories, and the horror! :-)

    Who knows? Maybe this article will surface Eddie! :-)

  5. Alanna says:

    I loved reading this. The texture of summer, and the way one person doing the right thing can make a bad situation bearable.

  6. Alanna says:

    I loved reading this. The texture of summer, and the way one person doing the right thing can make a bad situation bearable.

  7. Wow, this is great stuff. Nice work, you.

  8. Wow, this is great stuff. Nice work, you.

  9. Bdot says:

    I can almost here it now…….”You’re gonna go, you’re gonna like it, AND you’re GONNA have fun!, NOW get in the car!”

    I’m not sure TAB was the drink of choice either, Mr. Kitchen would always be going to get a Tom Collins, or some sort of cocktail

  10. Bdot says:

    I can almost here it now…….”You’re gonna go, you’re gonna like it, AND you’re GONNA have fun!, NOW get in the car!”

    I’m not sure TAB was the drink of choice either, Mr. Kitchen would always be going to get a Tom Collins, or some sort of cocktail

  11. Michelle says:

    Wow, that was one of the best written blogs posts I’ve ever read. I tend to be a skimmer, flitting from post to post, rarely finishing anything. But you had me hooked from the start. Well done!

    Michelle

  12. Michelle says:

    Wow, that was one of the best written blogs posts I’ve ever read. I tend to be a skimmer, flitting from post to post, rarely finishing anything. But you had me hooked from the start. Well done!

    Michelle

  13. Liz says:

    Having just come back from our local pool club, and checking e-mail before hopping in the shower I was thrilled to see I was going to get the full Eddie Fields story that I have been lucky enough to hear orally.

    Your wonderful writing brought back the feeling of long ago summers and our interactions with both kids and adults. It’s so different for our kids than it was for us – and not only pink cans of Tab replaced by the myriad of water bottles. Kids now have so many choices, they are more comfortable with adults (no 5 and 11 year olds would have called me Liz as they did today, it would always be “Mrs….”) they are part of decisions. Not like what we had (as so nicely put in Bdot’s response) “you’re going and you’re going to have fun,” oh yeah – rings a bell :-) (along with stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!)

    Thanks for sharing your soul. That’s what makes your writing such a joy to read.

    Oh, and thank goodness for the one or two Eddie Field’s that cross our paths in life… if we are so lucky.

  14. Liz says:

    Having just come back from our local pool club, and checking e-mail before hopping in the shower I was thrilled to see I was going to get the full Eddie Fields story that I have been lucky enough to hear orally.

    Your wonderful writing brought back the feeling of long ago summers and our interactions with both kids and adults. It’s so different for our kids than it was for us – and not only pink cans of Tab replaced by the myriad of water bottles. Kids now have so many choices, they are more comfortable with adults (no 5 and 11 year olds would have called me Liz as they did today, it would always be “Mrs….”) they are part of decisions. Not like what we had (as so nicely put in Bdot’s response) “you’re going and you’re going to have fun,” oh yeah – rings a bell :-) (along with stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!)

    Thanks for sharing your soul. That’s what makes your writing such a joy to read.

    Oh, and thank goodness for the one or two Eddie Field’s that cross our paths in life… if we are so lucky.

  15. Scott Monty says:

    Ann, you are truly gifted. You have such a wonderful facility with words and storytelling. Your description brought back many childhood memories for me, only lacking in the tetherball and four-square areas that I remember from our town’s pool club.

    But more importantly, your ability to recognize heroism in the smallest gestures and to apply the lesson to greater things – that’s where you’re an inspiration.

    Keep up the great work here.

  16. Scott Monty says:

    Ann, you are truly gifted. You have such a wonderful facility with words and storytelling. Your description brought back many childhood memories for me, only lacking in the tetherball and four-square areas that I remember from our town’s pool club.

    But more importantly, your ability to recognize heroism in the smallest gestures and to apply the lesson to greater things – that’s where you’re an inspiration.

    Keep up the great work here.

  17. I have chills, baby! Great writing, you harked me back to the pool, the tinny AM radio playing Peter Frampton, “Our Love Is Alive” , my parent’s smokes wafting in the air, my eyes burning from the chlorine. Way to nail tweeny awkwardness. And our beloved hero, Eddie Field. Google his ass, stat! I am so lucky to have and Eddie in my life and even more so, you and your amazing writing!!

  18. I have chills, baby! Great writing, you harked me back to the pool, the tinny AM radio playing Peter Frampton, “Our Love Is Alive” , my parent’s smokes wafting in the air, my eyes burning from the chlorine. Way to nail tweeny awkwardness. And our beloved hero, Eddie Field. Google his ass, stat! I am so lucky to have and Eddie in my life and even more so, you and your amazing writing!!

  19. Great story! I wish I could write like half an Annie.

    Next time I see you live , I’ll tell you about a faux pas of mine that just might rival this one. If embarrassment could kill, I’d be six feet under…

  20. Great story! I wish I could write like half an Annie.

    Next time I see you live , I’ll tell you about a faux pas of mine that just might rival this one. If embarrassment could kill, I’d be six feet under…

  21. Karen Swim says:

    Ann, a beautiful story beautifully told. It jogged my own fond memories of childhood summers and friends long out of touch. Everyone deserves an Eddie Field. Thanks for sharing him with us all.

  22. Karen Swim says:

    Ann, a beautiful story beautifully told. It jogged my own fond memories of childhood summers and friends long out of touch. Everyone deserves an Eddie Field. Thanks for sharing him with us all.

  23. Ann Handley says:

    Thanks, all. No word from Eddie yet. Either he’s not online, or he’s STILL avoiding me. (Quite possible, given our history.) lol….

  24. Ann Handley says:

    Thanks, all. No word from Eddie yet. Either he’s not online, or he’s STILL avoiding me. (Quite possible, given our history.) lol….

  25. A wonderful story, Ann. Hints of Updike and Tartt and several other writers in my personal pantheon :)

    And of course it’s one little detail that sends me straight back to my youth — the mysterious CCD, where all the Catholic kids seemed to disappear on (was it?) Wednesday afternoon. Maybe it was the spy-agency acronym, maybe it was that I didn’t know what on earth they could tell kids on a weekday that they couldn’t tell them on a Sunday, but I found CCD utterly fascinating. And it was probably nothing more than fairly mundane religious instruction that bored everyone to tears…

  26. A wonderful story, Ann. Hints of Updike and Tartt and several other writers in my personal pantheon :)

    And of course it’s one little detail that sends me straight back to my youth — the mysterious CCD, where all the Catholic kids seemed to disappear on (was it?) Wednesday afternoon. Maybe it was the spy-agency acronym, maybe it was that I didn’t know what on earth they could tell kids on a weekday that they couldn’t tell them on a Sunday, but I found CCD utterly fascinating. And it was probably nothing more than fairly mundane religious instruction that bored everyone to tears…

  27. ronploof says:

    This post stirred very warm memories for this forty-something living in Southern California. And they weren’t generic memories of summertimes past; they were very real. You see, I grew up next door to the “club” that Ann describes. I know who “Lisa” and Diana” are. And although I didn’t remember Eddie Field, I just had to check my High School Yearbook, to see if his image was there.

    As I looked at his picture, 3000 miles and 27 years from where and when it was taken, I had faint memories of a kind and gentle young man.

    Thanks Ann!

  28. Ron Ploof says:

    This post stirred very warm memories for this forty-something living in Southern California. And they weren’t generic memories of summertimes past; they were very real. You see, I grew up next door to the “club” that Ann describes. I know who “Lisa” and Diana” are. And although I didn’t remember Eddie Field, I just had to check my High School Yearbook, to see if his image was there.

    As I looked at his picture, 3000 miles and 27 years from where and when it was taken, I had faint memories of a kind and gentle young man.

    Thanks Ann!

  29. Mary says:

    Ann,
    This brought me right back to my summer days in Kentucky. We had neighborhood pools. I am sure it cost about the same to join. Me and my siblings, friends would walk down to the pool all summer long. I can remember the whistle being blown for “adult swim time”. All the moms would get in the pool and swim with their heads above the water. We used to think, “what a waste!!” We would count down the minutes until we could jump back in.
    I too had a horrifing experince with my bikini one day. I must have been in the 6th or 7th grade. I had jumped in the pool, climbed right back out not realizing that my top had pulled right up to my neck. My “girlfriend” had this look on her face like I was a different color.—just jealous, I am sure :)! My top was up at my neck. I screamed and covered myself and jumped back into the pool. It took me a long time to buy a two piece again. I was soooo embarrassed! I can still remember the sunny day, where I was standing. I can also remember mothers nursing their babies at the pool, they had big blankets over them….. The only thing I can remember thinking is they had a “right to be there” but not sure I would do that in public. HAHA, Love ya, Mary

  30. Mary says:

    Ann,
    This brought me right back to my summer days in Kentucky. We had neighborhood pools. I am sure it cost about the same to join. Me and my siblings, friends would walk down to the pool all summer long. I can remember the whistle being blown for “adult swim time”. All the moms would get in the pool and swim with their heads above the water. We used to think, “what a waste!!” We would count down the minutes until we could jump back in.
    I too had a horrifing experince with my bikini one day. I must have been in the 6th or 7th grade. I had jumped in the pool, climbed right back out not realizing that my top had pulled right up to my neck. My “girlfriend” had this look on her face like I was a different color.—just jealous, I am sure :)! My top was up at my neck. I screamed and covered myself and jumped back into the pool. It took me a long time to buy a two piece again. I was soooo embarrassed! I can still remember the sunny day, where I was standing. I can also remember mothers nursing their babies at the pool, they had big blankets over them….. The only thing I can remember thinking is they had a “right to be there” but not sure I would do that in public. HAHA, Love ya, Mary

  31. Alan Wolk says:

    This may just be your best yet.

    Great flashback to our 70s childhoods – my summers at a bungalow colony in the Hudson Valley weren’t all that different – kids in the lake, moms on the shore, dads came up on weekends. We did our thing, they did theirs.

    So different from my kids lives now, where my son’s request for a week off from camp to “do nothing” was met with the growing realization that he’d be bored silly, since he’d be the only kid his age around, and his final decision to go to camp that week.

    It’s not that he hates camp; in fact he loves it. As I’ve noted before in response to your posts, it’s just sad that kids don’t have that independence we did.

    I also love that Eddie’s become a larger-than-life character in your house. We have a few of those too and I often wonder how I’d react if I actually ever ran into them.

  32. Alan Wolk says:

    This may just be your best yet.

    Great flashback to our 70s childhoods – my summers at a bungalow colony in the Hudson Valley weren’t all that different – kids in the lake, moms on the shore, dads came up on weekends. We did our thing, they did theirs.

    So different from my kids lives now, where my son’s request for a week off from camp to “do nothing” was met with the growing realization that he’d be bored silly, since he’d be the only kid his age around, and his final decision to go to camp that week.

    It’s not that he hates camp; in fact he loves it. As I’ve noted before in response to your posts, it’s just sad that kids don’t have that independence we did.

    I also love that Eddie’s become a larger-than-life character in your house. We have a few of those too and I often wonder how I’d react if I actually ever ran into them.

  33. Elaine Fogel says:

    Ann, I’m telling you… that novel is in you somewhere.

    Just for fun, I researched Eddie Field. There’s one who’s a member of the Raleigh-Durham Web Design Group. There’s another who’s the Business Relationship Manager for Summit IT Services. Eddie Field, 919-622-1547,
    Eddie@EddieField.com

    Then there’s J Eddie Field of Field Computer Consulting in Lakehills, TX, and an Eddie Field who was the assistant art director of the 1982 film, Full Moon High.

    There’s another Eddie at 1040 Monte Verde Dr.
    Arcadia, California (626) 254-9053.

    Or, how about the UK Eddie Field, Diploma in Ceramics, BA Archaeology, who lectures widely on both Japanese and Chinese traditions in ceramics?

    There’s a Canadian Eddie Field who plays drums on his son’s CD at http://www.myspace.com/danielfieldandthesuburbancowboys.

    Lastly, there was a TV burglar named Eddie Field who was electrocuted while trying to steal electricity. http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Satellite/9476/bodycount2.htm

    Which one was YOUR Eddie Field? :)

  34. Elaine Fogel says:

    Ann, I’m telling you… that novel is in you somewhere.

    Just for fun, I researched Eddie Field. There’s one who’s a member of the Raleigh-Durham Web Design Group. There’s another who’s the Business Relationship Manager for Summit IT Services. Eddie Field, 919-622-1547,
    Eddie@EddieField.com

    Then there’s J Eddie Field of Field Computer Consulting in Lakehills, TX, and an Eddie Field who was the assistant art director of the 1982 film, Full Moon High.

    There’s another Eddie at 1040 Monte Verde Dr.
    Arcadia, California (626) 254-9053.

    Or, how about the UK Eddie Field, Diploma in Ceramics, BA Archaeology, who lectures widely on both Japanese and Chinese traditions in ceramics?

    There’s a Canadian Eddie Field who plays drums on his son’s CD at http://www.myspace.com/danielfieldandthesuburbancowboys.

    Lastly, there was a TV burglar named Eddie Field who was electrocuted while trying to steal electricity. http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Satellite/9476/bodycount2.htm

    Which one was YOUR Eddie Field? :)

  35. I went to that EXACT club in the 1970s myself, Ann, except ours was called the “yacht club” because it was on a Lake Michigan beach. My mom wore the same cap and did the delicate breast stroke during “adult swim” and my siblings and I loved eating the hamburgers and drinking the cokes, especially because they came from the Snack Bar where all the cool kids hung out. Thanks for taking me back!

  36. I went to that EXACT club in the 1970s myself, Ann, except ours was called the “yacht club” because it was on a Lake Michigan beach. My mom wore the same cap and did the delicate breast stroke during “adult swim” and my siblings and I loved eating the hamburgers and drinking the cokes, especially because they came from the Snack Bar where all the cool kids hung out. Thanks for taking me back!

  37. Ann Handley says:

    Thanks, all. Although I think I need to quit before I actually, you know, actually FIND Eddie. My brother sent me this… he imagines Eddie, now an IT guy:

    Eddie: “Hello summit IT services. This is Eddie. Can I help you?”

    Caller: “Hi Eddie you don’t know me from Adam, but do you have ears that stick out?”

    Eddie: “Well yes, and no, I used to but got a lobe reduction and flattening somewhere back in the mid ’90s.”

    Caller: “That’s great, back in the ’70s did you ever go to a swimming pool that had a snack bar?”

    Eddie: ”Why yes, I did, is there some IT question I can answer for you?”

    Caller: “Do you have any ‘special mammaries’ from that time period?”

    Eddie: “Any special WHAT?”

    Caller: “Mammories, you know like little titties.”

    Eddie: “Who is this? I’m on the DO not call list!”

    Caller: “Well, Ann is looking for you.”

    Eddie: “Gheesh……[click].”

  38. Ann Handley says:

    Thanks, all. Although I think I need to quit before I actually, you know, actually FIND Eddie. My brother sent me this… he imagines Eddie, now an IT guy:

    Eddie: “Hello summit IT services. This is Eddie. Can I help you?”

    Caller: “Hi Eddie you don’t know me from Adam, but do you have ears that stick out?”

    Eddie: “Well yes, and no, I used to but got a lobe reduction and flattening somewhere back in the mid ’90s.”

    Caller: “That’s great, back in the ’70s did you ever go to a swimming pool that had a snack bar?”

    Eddie: ”Why yes, I did, is there some IT question I can answer for you?”

    Caller: “Do you have any ‘special mammaries’ from that time period?”

    Eddie: “Any special WHAT?”

    Caller: “Mammories, you know like little titties.”

    Eddie: “Who is this? I’m on the DO not call list!”

    Caller: “Well, Ann is looking for you.”

    Eddie: “Gheesh……[click].”

  39. Diana says:

    awww… Annie Banannie… you brought tears to my eyes! I LOVED those summers.

  40. Diana says:

    awww… Annie Banannie… you brought tears to my eyes! I LOVED those summers.

  41. Sean Howard says:

    Wow. You have a gift, Ann. And it’s to tell stories that touch us far deeper than we would expect from the facts, actors or even topic.

    Thank you for this. I am off to recall, find and thank the Eddie’s in my life.

  42. Sean Howard says:

    Wow. You have a gift, Ann. And it’s to tell stories that touch us far deeper than we would expect from the facts, actors or even topic.

    Thank you for this. I am off to recall, find and thank the Eddie’s in my life.

  43. Marni Correra says:

    Hey Ann – Great story – and if you think that was easy for me to post, you’re wrong. This is my first time to your blog – I read the story, and truly loved it. I thought, I should leave a comment letting her know how much I enjoyed it. But then I read through the other comments, and thought, they are all so well written, so well-thought, mine would look dumb in comparison.

    So I went on to read some your other stories. As luck would have it, the first one I picked was, “I Suspect Everyone Else Is Smarter, Better-Looking, Taller, Cooler, Cuter, Has Newer and Shinier Objects than I Do (and Is More Modest) “.

    Not to say, that after reading that I’m convinced it isn’t true, but it certainly convinced me that I could at least have the courage to post a comment about your story, even if everyone else’s would be better written, more well-thought….

    Thanks for story, I really did enjoy it.

  44. Marni Correra says:

    Hey Ann – Great story – and if you think that was easy for me to post, you’re wrong. This is my first time to your blog – I read the story, and truly loved it. I thought, I should leave a comment letting her know how much I enjoyed it. But then I read through the other comments, and thought, they are all so well written, so well-thought, mine would look dumb in comparison.

    So I went on to read some your other stories. As luck would have it, the first one I picked was, “I Suspect Everyone Else Is Smarter, Better-Looking, Taller, Cooler, Cuter, Has Newer and Shinier Objects than I Do (and Is More Modest) “.

    Not to say, that after reading that I’m convinced it isn’t true, but it certainly convinced me that I could at least have the courage to post a comment about your story, even if everyone else’s would be better written, more well-thought….

    Thanks for story, I really did enjoy it.

  45. Greg Straface says:

    Ann,

    That was a fantastic story. Definitely brought me back to those long and hot summer days as a kid, playing baseball all day and then heading up to the pool with friends for a swim. Looking forward to reading more of your posts.

    Greg

  46. Greg Straface says:

    Ann,

    That was a fantastic story. Definitely brought me back to those long and hot summer days as a kid, playing baseball all day and then heading up to the pool with friends for a swim. Looking forward to reading more of your posts.

    Greg

  47. David Reich says:

    Ann, what a beautiful piece of writing. It brought me right back to my days as a 12 or 13-year old at the public pool in Mount Vernon, NY, where I grew up and still live. I haven’t been to that pool since my kids were little, before we joined a beach club. But there were many mostly good memories from that pool, and your story brought them back.

    Thanks.

  48. David Reich says:

    Ann, what a beautiful piece of writing. It brought me right back to my days as a 12 or 13-year old at the public pool in Mount Vernon, NY, where I grew up and still live. I haven’t been to that pool since my kids were little, before we joined a beach club. But there were many mostly good memories from that pool, and your story brought them back.

    Thanks.

  49. Cam Beck says:

    I got stuck on this part…

    “Being part of something larger than myself, I realized happily, made me dwell less on my own shortcomings.”

    What shortcomings?

  50. Cam Beck says:

    I got stuck on this part…

    “Being part of something larger than myself, I realized happily, made me dwell less on my own shortcomings.”

    What shortcomings?

  51. Jen says:

    I think we hung out at the same pool. We did have a tennis court but it was filled with weeds between the cracks. Everything else, right down to the Tab and bathing caps is the same. Thanks for the memories.

  52. Jen says:

    I think we hung out at the same pool. We did have a tennis court but it was filled with weeds between the cracks. Everything else, right down to the Tab and bathing caps is the same. Thanks for the memories.

  53. grace says:

    one of the best memoirs i have had the pleasure of reading…thank you. it pains me to say this, but you really should put these together in a book…one we can buy at our local bookstore, standing patiently in line for our turn to have you sign our own copy. well done, indeed, ms. handley.

  54. grace says:

    one of the best memoirs i have had the pleasure of reading…thank you. it pains me to say this, but you really should put these together in a book…one we can buy at our local bookstore, standing patiently in line for our turn to have you sign our own copy. well done, indeed, ms. handley.

  55. Pingback: A Journey to ‘25 Random Things’

  56. Nurse Staff says:

    I loved reading this. The texture of summer, and the way one person doing the right thing can make a bad situation bearable.

  57. I'll post the same information to my blog, thanks for ideas and great article.

  58. I'll back again for sure, thanks for great article :D

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