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Old Man in a Speedo. Say it ain't so

So it turns out that dad wearing a speedo is more unusual than I thought. To me it was just one of the many typical idiosyncrasies of an immigrant family.  It was not until many years later when I realized that my dad, though quite successful in business, was a very peculiar man.  Maybe wearing speedos in public settings is not that acceptable after all. I guess my dad had a fondness for his blue, barely stretchable speedos.  He wore them on vacations, to local beaches, friends' pools and family events. The following incidents are embedded in my poor brain even though I've try hard to forget them.  It doesn't matter. The harder I try to erase those images, the more they remain.. I can't get those ridiculously tight blue speedos out of my head.  Thanks dad.

There he was in his white hotel robe and leather flip flops.  My brothers and I were already in the pool in the hot Florida sun playing our twentieth Marco Polo game.  My father kept walking towards us in a confident, dictatorial way stomping, making squishy sounds with those flip flops.  There seemed to be a rhythm to his flipping and squishing.  I tried to dive in and to hold my breath under water so that I wouldn't have to see him.  But after 40 seconds or so I emerged just to see my dad at the pool side calling us all towards him.  I was hesitant, but being the oldest I was accustomed to obeying commands.  My brothers soon followed and then it happened...

My father dropped his white robe and belly flopped into the pool.  The water went everywhere.  All the other hotel guests were saturated with the chlorine laced water .  I could see the anger in their faces, but my father didn't care. After wading in the pool for a couple of minutes he got out and proceeded to talk to most of the hotel guests in his tiny blue speedos. Even though they awkwardly tried to be polite I could see the horror in their faces as it mirrored the horror that felt inside.  The damage was done.  All the poolside loving hotel guests now knew that my dad was a proud out of the closet speedo wearer.

When I got older, I went on a trip with my father to Puerto Rico. I was looking forward to spending a week on the enchanted island.  Nothing felt better leaving New York with snow on the ground and arriving in Puerto Rico to a summer like 82 degrees.

Ah the serenity of relaxing in a hammock overlooking the ocean.  The view was seemingly perfect.  I felt the mist of the water, smelled the salty air, and heard the tranquil rhythm of the sea ebbing and flowing. This was truly paradise. I was one with the ocean. I was one with the beach. Life was good. Until...... Paradise lost.  Yes in the distance my eyes beheld a sickening sight.......

My dad was sun bathing in those blue speedos again.  I couldn't believe it he still had those damn speedos. For goodness sake man conceal those jewels in something more loose fitting. Nobody needs to see that. Nobody should ever see that.  Seriously dad, you cant go to Macy's and buy some decent swimming trunks?

What's up with speedos? Is it a European thing in general or is it something unique to my dad and other men of a certain age that wallow in bad taste?  I suppose it could only be trumped by black socks pulled neatly up the calf while wearing a nice pair of plaid shorts and tie shoes.

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