I woke up to a throat feeling like it had spent the night next to a blistering desert sun while the rest of my body slumbered under a mound of blankets necessary to combat the 60 degree chill that my wife feels is the ideal sleeping temperature.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I gulped down copious amounts of water, realizing that eating an entire bag of cheese/caramel popcorn on the train ride home from downtown Chicago the previous evening may have been the cause of my discomfort.
I can hear our nation’s elementary school children laughing at me. While also wondering why I failed to learn about proper hydration.
How am I still alive after nearly 60 years?
Now that school is back in session, I get the privilege of seeing a bus pull up outside my home each weekday at precisely 2:37 p.m., idling while an assortment of students, ages 5-17, spills out. None seem to carry books or educational materials of any kind. Instead, they hold containers of what I assume is life-saving H2O.
Their receptacles vary in color and style, much like the lunchboxes kids of my generation carried. Incidentally, those lunchboxes held separate thermoses, secured with metal clips, and filled with approximately 8 ounces of liquid. In my case it was milk, or chocolate milk if my mom was in an especially jovial mood that morning.
Eight ounces wouldn’t get today’s students through one period, judging by the mammoth jugs the bus occupants lugged up their driveways. Just looking at these “canteens on steroids” made me yearn for a bathroom.
Does every kid want to grow up to be an Aquafina distributor? Or did the water fountain business go belly up and nobody informed me?
The Water Fountain is Where Disease Goes to Germinate
Ah, yes, the hallway water fountain. The oasis of a healthy, hydrated existence when I attended school. It was available during passing periods, providing the line (yes, THE LINE!) was short enough that quenching one’s thirst did not interfere with being tardy to one’s next class.
Otherwise, it became necessary to ask permission to leave the room.
Excuse me, Mrs. Cramer, may I please go outside and put my mouth over a germ-infested piece of stainless steel, surrounded by used gum and most likely the origin of COVID-19, so I can continue my daily journey of consuming the recommended 64 ounces of water necessary for good health?
No? OK. Maybe tomorrow?
That’s right parents, my generation not only had to obtain consent to drink water, but could also be REFUSED. What would happen if your little darlings were the victims of such torturous behavior today? Most likely you would tell your lawyers to temporarily halt the lawsuits banning “To Kill a Mockingbird” from school curriculums and focus on this grave injustice instead.
That’s Enough Swallowing
It wasn’t every day that my school operated like a maximum security prison. On occasion there were community trips to the water fountain; the entire class spilled into the hallway, eventually forming a single-file line and awaiting our chance to hydrate. Each student was allowed to consume as much water he or she could swallow in five seconds. Rest assured, a nearby teacher monitored the time.
It was only a few years ago that I embraced continuous hydration as a stepping stone to good health. I also heard it was a great way to quickly shed a few pounds. Still, I wonder if “lack of water during tween years” may be included in the “Cause of Death” line when my autopsy is conducted. That and “Not enough soy in diet.”
Today a water bottle can be found near my desk as I write, or in my car, as I commute to various locations, hopefully all containing restrooms. I also have been known to take advantage of complimentary water filling stations that are becoming commonplace in airports and other public facilities.
Trust me, that option is preferable to asking a second grader if he can part with 50 ounces.
