Boing!
Upon seeing a pair of one-gallon milk jugs, followed by an oversized rump roast in the moonlight from an upstairs window of the church parsonage, this rising freshman made that springy sound when these baby blues nearly popped out of his head like a cartoon character.
After shaking the cobwebs from my head, I thought, “Did I just see that?” blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision.
Yep! I definitely saw a buck-naked woman — one of my nearby neighbors, to be exact — climbing out of our backyard swimming pool.
My jaw dropped to the floor in disbelief.
When my little sisters and I were traipsing up the enclosed L-shaped staircase to our bedrooms to turn in for the night, we overheard boisterous laughter — coming from the two adult couples living in the church rental properties — wafting through the window at the top of the stairs.
Judging from what I heard, those former hippies, from the Woodstock era, were having a fantabulous time taking a moonlight dip under the stars, and now I knew why.
They were all swimming — without any inhibitions — in their birthday suits.
A mere two weeks after returning from our biannual trip to Pappy and Grandma Price’s townhouse in the Empire State, Robert “Bob” Jones Jr. approached my father coming out of the colossal red-brick building adorned with stained glass windows to ask if he and his wife, along with their next-door neighbors, could do a little night swimming in our backyard water paradise.
“Why not?” Dad asked the rhetorical question, tucking a well-worn Bible under his arm. “Since my kids typically use the pool during the day, I don’t see anything wrong with you and your friends enjoying a refreshing swim now and again.”
“Just make sure to clean up after yourselves when you’re finished, because my wife washes enough wet towels as it is,” he added with a chuckle.
“Thank you so much,” Bob replied, extending his hand to shake that of the blond-haired minister. “And you don’t have anything to worry about, because we’ll be sure to pick up our belongings upon exiting the swimming pool.”
Later that evening, my younger siblings and I were downstairs in the basement, sporting our shorty pajamas, enjoying a bedtime snack while watching another exciting re-run of The Love Boat, following our usual Saturday night ritual — a vigorous scrub-a-dub-dub in the bathtub — before hitting the hay.
As the credits rolled across the colored console television screen in the corner family room, situated behind the now silent gas-powered furnace, we heard the dreaded words, “It’s time for bed,” coming from the dark-haired brunette, our ever-punctual timekeeper standing at the top of the open staircase.
Can’t we stay up just a little bit longer to watch Fantasy Island?
“It’s ten o’clock, Miss Lulu Belle,” Mom interjected, giving her youngest a love tap on the backside while directing us to place our dirty snack plates in the kitchen sink. “Since we have church in the morning, you little rugrats need to brush your teeth and crawl under those covers; and there’s to be absolutely no monkey business tonight.”
Yes, ma’am.
Once this trio of youngsters slowly rinsed their empty plates with remnants of chocolate icing — except for mine, because I licked it clean — they each gave the tall, slender woman a big squeeze and a smooch before saying goodnight to the man of the house, seated on a recliner in the living room, surrounded by several Bibles and commentaries mapping out tomorrow morning’s sermon.
Finished with our nightly farewell tour, the three of us slowly trudged up the steps to the second floor, stopping short on the landing next to the window overlooking the backyard.
“The neighbors are totally skinny-dipping in our swimming pool!” I exclaimed.
“You need to have your eyes examined, Marcus Welby, M.D.,” Kathleen giggled, looking at me as though I’d lost my marbles. “They surely wouldn’t be swimming in the nude in a preacher’s backyard swimming pool. Just think of the scandal it would create, not to mention them getting arrested for indecent exposure.”
“More than likely, that’s the last thing on their minds,” I softly retorted, while getting my dander up at her refusal to believe me. “Michele, turn out the lights, because I’m going to prove to Her Majesty — the Queen of Sheba — that I just saw Debbie Jones, naked as a jaybird, standing atop the pool ladder.”
With that said, we heard a thunderous splash, followed by a lot of uproarious laughter.
“Fiddlesticks!” I said under my breath. “She jumped back into the swimming pool.”
“Wait a minute,” I continued, placing an index finger on these lips to quell my usual playmates bickering over their preferred position in front of the window. “It looks like Mr. Jones is getting ready to climb up the ladder to make his own swan dive; so, now I’ll be able to prove my point.”
All six of our eyeballs practically bulged from their sockets upon seeing the black curly-haired man’s thingamabob staring back at us.
It was like watching a skin flick on one of those coin-operated television sets at the adult bookstore on the road to Zelienople, or so I’ve heard.
While covering my mortified sisters’ eyes, I had one last look before racing them down the steps to notify our father about the “grown-up shenanigans” taking place just beyond our backdoor.
Did he not hear what I just said?
With what I just revealed, I couldn’t believe my dad just sat there and continued to prepare his sermon; and he actually told me to go back upstairs, close the curtain on the stairwell window, and go to bed.
Although the Bible scholar ventured upstairs a short time later to see that I adhered to his direct command, he never did anything about the skinny dippers in our swimming pool; because I heard their laughter above the constant rattle of the boxed window fan, long after my big brother John turned off the black-and-white television next to his bed.
However, the amiable preacher paid a visit to the free-spirited church tenants — all of whom were sitting on their respective front porches, chatting with one another — after the morning worship service to deliver a very pointed message.
“I’m sure you folks meant no harm swimming in the buff last night,” the father of four said, letting the revelation settle before delivering his mic drop moment. “But maybe next time, you can keep your bathing suits on — I didn’t anticipate needing to give my children a lesson on the birds and the bees, especially since my youngest is only five.”