Last weekend the kids went to a pool party for a friend at Gypsy Divers. The scuba diving school rents out time in a room and its heated pool for birthday parties and the like. I hadn’t planned to get into the pool at first but on a whim I dug up my ancient dive certification card from the training I got back in 1989.
As the kids got ready for the pool, I chatted with staff and asked if it was possible to get some gear on and try diving again. After squinting hard at the hair-covered picture on my dive card, the staff issued me a BC, regulator, and tank, and sent me into the storage room to hunt down flippers, booties (which Kelly found so attractive), and a mask. After a quick, two-minute refresher lesson on all the controls around me and a suggestion to stay near the shallow end at first, I straddled the poolside and slipped into the twelve-foot end.
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