Ray Helps Dudley with the Pool

Ray had owned a pool. Ray had also gotten rid of a pool. These two facts gave Ray a level of confidence about pools that Dudley found difficult to challenge.

Ray had pool opinions. Some came from experience. Some came from things that happened in 1995.

Others appeared to come from the general principle that if Ray had once done something a certain way, that was now the way it should be done.

So when Dudley’s pool started acting up, he called Ray.

Eventually.

Dudley had already researched pump flow, return pressure, skimmer performance and several other things that should not have been interesting but somehow were. He had specifications. He had diagrams. He had developed a theory.

Betty listened for approximately four minutes.

“Did you call your dad?”

Dudley stopped.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what the problem is.”

“Then why are you still talking about it?”

That was fair.

Dudley called Ray.

“What’s going on?”

“Pool problem.”

There was a pause. Dudley could practically hear his father becoming interested.

“What kind?”

“Pump’s not pulling right.”

“What pump?”

“Hayward.”

“What size line?”

“Inch and a half.”

“Where’s your valve?”

“Well, I don’t have one going into the pump.”

Ray made a noise.

It was not a supportive noise.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t have done it that way.”

Dudley closed his eyes and swallowed his pride.

“Can you come look at it?”

“Yeah.”

Ray showed up with tools. Dudley had tools. Ray still brought tools. This was apparently another thing fathers did.

Ray walked around the pool, looked at the pump, the filter and the plumbing, then stood there thinking.

Dudley waited.

This was harder than it sounds.

He had a theory. It was a good theory. Possibly an excellent theory. But he kept his mouth shut.

Ray pointed.

“That line’s too low.”

Dudley had diagrams suggesting otherwise.

“Maybe.”

Ray looked at him.

“Maybe?”

“Could be.”

Ray crouched beside the pump. It took him a little longer than it used to. Dudley noticed the hand on the knee and the pause when he stood again.

Ray still moved like a man who expected his body to do what it had always done, even when his body had begun negotiating the terms.

He pointed at the pump.

“Turn it off.”

Dudley turned it off.

“Open that.”

Dudley opened it.

“No, the other one.”

He opened the other one.

“Fill the basket.”

Dudley did.

“More.”

He added more.

“That’s enough.”

Ray leaned closer.

“Turn it on.”

The pump coughed. The line rattled. Then the basket filled, the pressure came up and water started moving.

Ray smiled.

“There.”

Dudley looked at the pump.

“That fixed it.”

“Yep.”

“I was going to do that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Dudley laughed.

They stood beside the pool listening to the pump run.

Ray looked satisfied. Not proud of himself exactly. Useful.

Dudley knew that feeling. He had built a career around solving things, knowing things and being the person somebody called when they needed an answer.

Ray had spent his life doing much the same thing. Working. Fixing. Helping. Showing up.

He couldn’t do all of it the way he used to. They both knew it.

Ray looked at the pool.

“You know what your problem is?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me.”

“You don’t run it enough.”

“I run it every day.”

“Not enough.”

“How many hours?”

Ray told him.

Dudley disagreed immediately. Internally. He had pump curves, turnover estimates, electricity usage and math.

Ray had once owned a pool.

“Okay.”

Ray looked suspicious.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You should clean that filter too.”

“I cleaned it last week.”

“Clean it again.”

“Okay.”

Ray seemed satisfied.

Betty was on the patio.

“Get it fixed?”

Ray answered first.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

Ray headed toward his truck, and Dudley walked with him.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“That’s nothing.”

Dudley knew it wasn’t.

Ray climbed into the truck a little slower than he once had, waved and drove away.

Dudley went back to the pool. The pump was running perfectly.

Betty came over.

“You knew how to fix that, didn’t you?”

“I had a theory.”

“Of course you did.”

“I probably could’ve figured it out.”

“I know.”

They watched the water move through the return.

“He likes helping.”

“I know.”

Dudley had always thought helping meant fixing the problem or having the answer. Apparently sometimes it meant asking. Sometimes it meant listening. Sometimes it meant letting your father help because being needed still mattered.

Dudley looked toward the road.

“He still thinks I’m not running it enough.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then I guess he’s right.”