How I Survived Self-Inflicted Waterboarding*

A Father’s Day Memory

Get ready: your kids will be coming of age much sooner than you realize.

There is a special time in your children’s lives when they cross the threshold of adulthood. For most people, that realization comes as a shock, well after-the-fact, and is often traumatic for all parties involved.

• The father clings to his title of protector and strongest man in the house.
• The mother fears she will lose her baby.
• And the frustrated son whose case for adult privileges has fallen on deaf ears for far too long.

For me, the moment of truth came in the summer of 2000.

Event #1: My last stand as a master of Pool-Jitsu

On June 14, 2000, the Los Angeles Lakers won their first NBA championship in twelve years. I had missed most of the Show Time years because my oldest son became my number one occupation after he was born.

As he and his brother became more self-sufficient (translations: “Get out of my room!” “Yeah, I did my homework, can I get back to my game?” and “I got some friends coming over, can you get some snacks on the way out?”), I began to rediscover the passions of my own childhood.

With the final buzzer and the Lakers now World Champions (suck it, Celtics fans), I wanted to celebrate in a special way.

Since I don’t drink, the only appropriate way to celebrate involving liquid was to throw my older son in the pool.

This seemed entirely logical at the time since one of our oldest and most beloved family sports was Pool-Jitsu.

In this sport, I would stand at the edge of the pool, facing the water. My sons would attack from behind and try to push me into the pool. Because of their lack of size and my lower body strength, they always ended up in the pool, while I yelled out my fake karate kiais.

But tonight was different. My son was four days short of his fifteenth birthday and already close to my size. A year had passed since my last time in the pool — 85° water is the rule — so I didn’t realize how much bigger and stronger my son had become.

Needless to say, there was an epic struggle, and with the aid of my wife, we finally got him into the pool without being pulled in as well. It would be the last time we would succeed in this feat.

Event #2: respect and neutrality

On June 18, we had a pool party for my son’s 15th birthday.

I was doing BBQ duty, turning out massive quantities of chicken and burgers grilled to juicy perfection.

You know you’ve hit the big time when, years later, your sons’ college friends ask “Is your dad going to be barbecuing?” Sadly, I’ve never repeated that performance, but it lives on in my memory. I had stumbled into a zen-like grilling zone — without the use of a cooking thermometer.

Because I was the chef, I was not dressed for any pool activities.

When kids started pushing each other into the pool, my feet remained firmly planted in that remote, far-flung Southwestern corner of Swiss sovereignty known as our San Fernando Valley back yard.

I watched as some of his friends tried to throw him in the pool. Like me, he used his leg strength and lowered his center of gravity as he gallantly hung on to some outdoor furniture without budging. In their frustration, they called on more friends to help lift him and toss him in the pool.

When the reinforcements arrived, my son called on his unique super powers, combining the sinuous musculature of a tiger with the impossible flexibility of a worm. His twisting and turning defeated the efforts of the larger group, and they called me to help. But I was proud of his strength and resolve, so I remained a neutral observer.

Event #3: my Waterloo turned out to be literally made of water.

Sometime in the middle of August, our family went to Magic Mountain, the Six Flags park in Southern California, known for having the most extreme roller coasters in the chain. One ride did not fit this profile.

Known as the Tidal Wave, this tame coaster ends in a 50-foot descent into the water. Here’s a POV video of the ride:

Everyone who takes Tidal Wave exits the ride by crossing a bridge over the coaster’s landing zone. The single most exciting thing is what happens to the spectators, as people leaving the ride get drenched when the coaster hits the water.

As we crossed the bridge, the whole family ganged up on me and held me in place to take the brunt of the next tidal wave. I was laughing so hard from the tickling and wrestling and insanity of the approaching situation that I couldn’t resist. I got soaked.

My wife and younger son walked across the bridge, but I grabbed my older son and held him in the same spot to return the favor. As we watched the next coaster approach and make its descent, he tried to squirm out of my hold and we laughed.

I thought that revenge is a dish best-served sopping wet. My son had something completely different in mind.

At the moment the coaster crashed into the tidal pool, my son used his super worm powers. He twisted one way and then reversed the twist to use my own strength and momentum against me, like I used to do in Pool-Jitsu.

The student had become the master, and the gong of the temple bell was replaced by the sound of the second tidal wave as it crashed over me.

Some people admire my perseverance, and others just call it stubbornness.

But I consider myself a student of life; I only believe things when someone can show me solid facts or data.

Like Odysseus bound to the mast so he could hear the siren’s song, I held on to my son. Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing ear plugs and I was paralyzed by the siren’s song of revenge — unaware of my own madness. Again, we jostled for position, laughing the whole time. Again, I held him in the face of the oncoming wall of water. And again, he twisted at the perfect time so I was the one who got drenched.

There is an old French proverb, jamais deux sans trois. It is the exact opposite of “three’s a charm.”

The French understand destiny and resigned to it, while Americans think that hitting your head against a wall three times will finally break the wall.

Like a Greek hero with a tragic flaw, I laughed and held and laughed and held and laughed and held, until I was twisted again into the path of a third oncoming tidal wave.

At this point, I surrendered and we crossed the bridge to rejoin the rest of the family before I got soaked again.

My fifteen-year-old crossed another bridge as well. He had symbolically killed his father and passed into manhood. As the fallen king, I was drenched in water and humiliation at being bested by this young teenager.

And I had never been prouder of him than at that moment.

*This story was written as a response to…

My thanks to Ernio Hernandez for his hilarious headline idea.