Trafalga

“I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds.” Psalm 9:1

When I was ten years old, I went to visit my cousins in Utah. It was summer and it was hot. They lived in a small dusty town and it was decided that on one day of our trip we would visit a water-park. Now this was the early nineteen-eighties, so waterparks were not as expansive and impressive as they are now. The water park that we visited was called “Trafalga” and it consisted of two or three waterslides, some bumper-boats, a mini-golf course (I think), an arcade (like I said, it was the eighties) and a snack-shack.

First, I guess I should have told you that this water park was not nearby. My family had to drive two-and-a-half hours to get there. We drove in the middle of the day, packed into my uncle’s green sedan with vinyl seats and no air-conditioning (if it did have AC, it was ineffective for the seven bodies that were packed into the five-person automobile. Seat-belts not required, by the way because, again folks, it was the eighties!).

After several hours jammed in a car with cousins, siblings and who-knows-who-else, we finally arrived at the rinky-dink water park, Trafalga. (Side note: I distinctly remember the name because for most the two-and-a-half-hour car ride one of my cousins sang to the tune of Toto’s Rosanna on a continual loop: “All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your slides, Trafalga, Trafalga!” It is forever burned into my memory bank.)

When we finally arrived, sticky and sweaty and stinky, we unbound ourselves from the car. It was then a frantic mad-dash to the cool, refreshing excitement of the waterslides.

I’m the baby of the family, cousins and all. And I have always taken full advantage of the perks that come from being the baby. Also, it’s important to note that I cannot swim. So, as the littlest, I tagged along with my siblings and cousins. I’m sure they wished that I would buzz-off and leave them alone but I was terrified of the giant water slide and felt safety in their numbers. Surely one of them would accompany me down the enormous maze of aqua-marine fiberglass tubing… But no. None of my counterparts would take pity on me. None of them wanted to go down the giant water slide with me, the baby.

So, my ever patient father volunteered to be my sliding buddy.

As we entered the slide, I had no idea what to expect and was pleasantly surprised by the excitement of riding along in the refreshing water, neon lights flashing throughout the enclosed tube. I held fast to my dad’s thighs as I sat between his knees and we swept down the tube in tandem; twists and turns, easy slopes and rushing bends.

My excitement quickly turned to fear, however, as we hit the bottom of the slide and plummeted out of the tube and into a pool of heavily chlorinated water. Like I said before, I am not a swimmer, so the shock of hitting the water caused me to clamp down ever more tightly to my father's thighs and we both sank like a rock to the bottom of the pool. It took a moment for my body to react to my thoughts of “let go!”, and I simultaneously did as my father quite effectively swept me up to the surface. We both momentarily gasped for breath before dodging away, nearly missed by the next person who was jettisoned from the slide, practically on top of us.

After a microsecond, and some sputtering, my dad and I looked at each other and laughed. “That was fun,” he said, “Wanna do it again?”

I shakily nodded my head and we began, again, to mount the staircase to the top of the monster slide. We spent the afternoon exhausting ourselves climbing and sliding and doing it all over again. I found my courage and was able to go alone. Enjoying the freedom of the experience. For me, the trip to Trafalga was a rite of passage. I was finally able to join in the family fun as a “big” kid. It was a new exploration into independence and autonomy. That day at Trafalga was one I’ll never forget.

It’s funny though. I recently asked my parents about the trip to Trafalga. Neither of them remembered it at first. It took a few moments of memory jogging for each of them, and even with that, the details were fuzzy. My mom confused it with a trip we had taken years earlier, staying with my great-aunt and uncle. My dad was befuddled and at first uttered, “What in the world is Trafalga?” But once I regaled our story of our wild ride, he did begin to recall the events. Also, I asked my sister and cousin (the one who sang Rosanna) about our trip to Trafalga and they both remember it, but only with sketchy details and contrary information.

To be honest, I can’t tell you how many of us were crammed in my uncle’s sedan, though I know it was more than the intended amount. I don’t remember which of my cousins went with us or even if my mother was there at all (we have differing recollections). I don’t know if there was a mini-golf course and I can’t tell you if we returned to my cousin’s house after our adventure or if we crashed with a local relative before our return.

Memories are funny things. Something that seemed so significant to one person, may be completely forgettable to another. Trafalga will always be something I remember. Just a little piece of my childhood tucked away, a nostalgic journey to take once in a while. At least when I take my journey back there, I don’t have to be in that over-crowded sedan sticking to the vinyl seats… But maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.