At the Trans-Canada Waterslides I am sitting at a picnic table. My nine-year-old twins are off doing what kids do at the waterslides.

A girl of about 10 years walks up to her daddy at the next picnic table over. "Dad, I'm bored," she whines.

Woah. She's at the waterslides and she's bored? Astonishing.

The parent has no sympathy for her.

I ponder the complaint for a few moments. "Dad, I'm bored," is something my kids say a fair bit, although thankfully not at the waterslides. I think back to when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure I never said that to my parents. Since when did it become a parent's job to ensure their offspring is entertained every moment of the day? Or was I just a self-sufficient kid?

I hear a child crying. I look over and see a boy of about 5 years, his face streaked with tears, standing by the fence that separates the picnic area from the parking lot. The fence has a long coil of barbed wire at the bottom of it, obviously to discourage freeloaders from trying to enter the waterslides without paying. The parent, clearly exasperated, yells at the boy. "Why would you walk into barbed wire?" he asks.

The child cries, and mumbles something. I can't make it out.

The parent begins yelling again, "I don't have any band-aids. I didn't bring any band-aids."

I smile a wry smile. Parenting. It sure can wear you down.

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At about 4:00 PM Clint tells me it's time to join them on the waterslides. Earlier, just after we had arrived at 11:00 AM, I had told the kids I would join them when the lines had died down, late in the afternoon. Clint now points out the line-ups are almost gone.

He is right. I join them.

We stay until the park closes, at 8:00 PM.

After the kids dry off they realize their toes are stinging. They had spent a lot of time playing in the rough, concrete-lined pools, and apparently it had worn through the skin under their toes.

When we get home, I find that we don't have any band-aids.

There are never enough band-aids, it seems.

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Copyright ©2005, David Vanderbyl