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My family went to Mexico to see whales.
That’s not the only reason we went to Cabo, but then again, the whales weren’t in Mexico because they were hoping to be seen.
The tour company guaranteed we’d see them or our next ride was free, but we were told that we had a one in five shot of actually seeing one breach. It was recommended that we improve our odds by booking several excursions. Our itinerary and budget forced us to take our chances.
As we skipped across the waves on our small vessel, my little family prayed to St. Francis, the patron saint of animals, and we invoked St. Anthony with the words, “Tony, Tony, look around, there is something to be found.” I had faith that our little excursion was in the right twentieth percentile.
Maybe our prayers were answered, maybe it just turned out to be our lucky day, but we saw this guy (or gal, I forgot to check) do this several times in front of us. I used this photo that our guide took with his awesome camera as reference for this painting.
Those fleeting moments represented a tiny fraction of our trip, but they were definitely the highlight.
The biggest chunk of our time on that vacation was spent in and around the pool. My kids could have spent the rest of their lives there, if we’d let them.
With the exception of me and Kim, the children were the only humans at the pool not collecting social security. They were in their own little world, lost in their imagination, playing, splashing and floating to their heart’s content. Meanwhile, our older neighbors stayed busy doing their thing, oblivious to the world of fantasy happening right in front of them.
I was sad for them, because they were missing out. They were nonplussed, and in some cases seemed a little annoyed by the joyful noises bubbling forth from the pool.
Mind you, I couldn’t see everything that clearly – Adultitis has dimmed my imagination more than I’d care to admit – but I could see well enough to know that magic was happening in that pool. I witnessed an adventure, no doubt wrought with equal parts excitement and peril, and I smiled as I wondered how magnificent it must be.
I know it seems unlikely, and I couldn’t tell for sure, but I could have sworn that a giant humpback whale may have been leaping right out of that very pool.
Don’t ask the grumps around the pool to fact check my story. I’m certain they missed the whole thing. Too riddled with Adultitis, no doubt.
That the whole scene appeared to be invisible made it no less real.
Why do we stop believing in fantastic things? Why do our wide eyes grow so dim with age? Shouldn’t they be even wider, for an old person has been privileged to observe an avalanche of wonders. Living long brings plenty of disappointment, to be sure, but it also brings a smorgasbord of sunrises and sunsets, and more time to bear witness to impossible things, like childbirth and springtime, and the way green leaves turn bright red every single year.
As I said, Adultitis has its grip on me, too. But I’m still fighting. I plan to fight it all the days of my life.
I hope I never stop believing.