A MEMOIR
Naked and Afraid in a Bouncy Castle
A true story of survival
Bouncy castles evoke fond memories for most of us. Birthday parties, minor concussions, trauma. You know — good times. So many bounces, so few dry undies.
There was one bouncy castle event indelibly etched in my memory. It was clothing optional and not as much fun as you might think.
I was invited to bring our children to a friend’s house for a free-for-all kid party. It was a typical Toronto summer day with relative humidity so high you could taste the air.
It tasted like hot hockey equipment.
We arrived and the party was in full swing. My kids raced to the castle and I watched them remove their shoes before I circulated with the adults. The grown-ups were gathered around the one postage stamp area of shade afforded by the poplar tree, making it very popular indeed.
Sure, it might have been beside the cooler of white wine, but that was irrelevant.
My kids were gone no more than 90 seconds when they both returned to share my shade. They were wearing their shoes again.
“What’s up? Too hot?” I asked in a squeaky high-pitched voice reserved for children disturbing their mother while she was trying not to be disturbed.
“Um…”
“Thirsty? Gotta pee? Hurt? You have to help me here,” I continued. My smile consumed my face and I tried not to look overly frustrated.
“Everyone is…” and they looked at each other. I finished their sentence in many ways in my head. “Pushing” “Sleeping” “Bouncing” “Biting” and “Singing,” were my top five options. What I didn’t expect them to say was, “naked.”
“Naked?” I said a little too loudly with a snort. “Why is everyone naked?”
“Oh,” said our hostess. “It’s too hot for clothes. Take yours off and jump in,” she said to the kids who looked like me but more terrified.
I’m not sure time actually stood still, but it certainly didn’t speed up. The three of us furrowed our brows in unison, and stopped breathing, hoping this bizarre turn of events would somehow be reversed if we refrained from using air.
“Sorry. Why again are they naked?” I stupidly asked.
“Because it’s too hot.”
“Is there a sprinkler or something on in there?”
“No. That wouldn’t be safe.” She didn’t add ‘stupid’ but it was implied by her screwed-up face and the way she bobbled her head like she was shaking sense into me from her side of the tree.
“Cool. Cool.” Which is what I was trying to be without feeling it.
“Kids, you don’t have to take off your clothes, you know,” I whispered. I didn’t want the other parents to judge me for my ridiculous notion that my children should remain clothed at a party with people they didn’t know or share a gender with while they writhed around on rubber.
Let them experience that in their 20s.
My children walked away sheepishly and I thought they might venture in. I didn’t hear a word the mothers were saying because I was so flummoxed. My brain was working overtime to process the information I had just digested as I stared straight ahead in a fog.
Also, I thought I’m an asshole for sending my kids back into an orgy.
That is when I felt a little sweaty hand on mine. I looked down and was thankful that, a) it was a sweaty hand and not something else, b) it was the hand of my daughter, c) she still had her clothes on, and d) her fully clothed brother was with her too.
Without saying a word, I knew we had to leave. No one should be comfortable in a bouncy castle teeming with sweaty naked children with questionable bathroom hygiene. Most of them were in kindergarten and I did enough laundry to know how that went.
We sat, with all our clothes on, beside the air conditioner at home. We each had a tall glass of lemonade that we drank lost in our own thoughts. None of those thoughts included, “I wish I’d gone naked in a bouncy castle today.” Some things don’t need to be said to be understood.
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