Growing up in Jackson Heights, Queens. The nearest swimming pool was in what seemed like a far off world. Without the money, or knowledge of the transit system. We were often left to our own devices and local fire hydrants when cooling off in the hot Summer sun. The joy of jumping in and out of the hydrants canon. Applying a hollowed out plastic bottle to better direct the waters flow. Or better yet, giving the passing cars a thorough soaking. Hoping that one unprepared driver would drive past with his guard and windows down. The childlike excitement of soaking the interior and occupants of an automobile felt as if it would last forever.
towards our final destination Astoria Pool. It was always a long trip. We never had any money (Maybe just enough for a soda and a slice on the way home.) so we couldn’t afford to train it. Walking and perhaps stealing a ride on the back of the bus was our only option. I remember we’d often opt for hopping the pools fence rather than pay the thirty five cent admission fee. For a kid between the age of seven to ten it was an adventure.our final destination Astoria Pool. It was always a long trip. We never had any money (Maybe just enough for a soda and a slice on the way home.) so we couldn’t afford to train it. Walking and perhaps stealing a ride on the back of the bus was our only option. I remember we’d often opt for hopping the pools fence rather than pay the thirty five cent admission fee. For a kid between the age of seven to ten it was an adventure.
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