Birthday Wishes and Dolphin Tears

“Discovery Cove.” There’s a truth to that name that extends far beyond the original intention of SeaWorld Parks & Entertainment. I know that now. There’s a famous quote by Aristotle that states “Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.” But there is a more apt quote from Goethe that now defines my life: “Know thyself? If I knew myself, I would run away.” What I discovered, back on my fateful birthday trip to Orlando, FL, was that I am a putz. And herein I shall expound upon such putz-ishness as I displayed that day.

And unlike many of my other blog posts, there is a porpoise to this one.

There is much to be said for traveling to a place that grants you the ability to swim with giant manta rays and neon-colored fish that weave their way in and out of a replica of a sunken pirate ship. And there is great appeal to drifting down a lazy river that winds around the total acreage of such a pristine world of ocean life. And amidst the fishes and flora is nestled an aviary as well, where tufted titmice and toucans frolic and beg for bits of birdseed from the paper cups of smiling visitors. It’s the kind of magical world that makes an overzealous PETA member froth at the mouth and drag out the blank picket signs they keep in their closet to start scribbling “Your Happiness Kills Innocents!” in angry black marker. Well, I’m sorry to say that something did die that day, but it wasn’t one of Nature’s creations. It was my dignity.

My husband John is a very good gift-giver. He knows what I like and he often finds a way to surprise me with something I secretly want but would never buy myself. One such present was a birthday trip to Discovery Cove, where I would get to revel in everything Little Mermaid-esque (please forgive the reference here, Disney Police). Especially the dolphins. We were scheduled to have an interactive encounter with these playful children of the sea. And as it happens, I was scheduled, at the same time, to utterly humiliate my husband.

The first omen should have been the near-drowning incident as I learned what it is to “snorkel.” It’s a simple concept. And so it takes a simple mind to f%*k it up so royally. Enter: yours truly. No one else has that much trouble with it. At least, those are the words my husband cried to me in frustration a minimum of six times, as I ducked under the water and came up sputtering. At that point, it wasn’t far-fetched that I would die in three feet of crystal-blue water as I clutched at the bare knees of my beloved and thrashed in the sluggish current of the lazy river, screaming something unintelligible about needing a longer breathing tube.

The second portent of doom should have been the rapidly darkening sky that cast a deep shadow over the park as its heavy-bellied clouds blanketed the sun. It was midday, without a trace of rain in sight, and yet it came upon us. No less ominous or rife with symbolism than the typhoon that assailed the Pequod, trying to swallow the ship whole as Captain Ahab continued his murderous hunt for the white whale. No such beast awaited my wrath, though. At the end of my quest was a delightful creature. A wholesome manifestation of pure joy in the form of a flippered mammal. So, why did it feel like the hand of Poseidon himself were reaching forth from the depths of the kiddie pool to pimp-slap us all?

Harbinger of calamity #3: The much anticipated act of wading through the lagoon of manta rays, where one could dip a hand into the cool water to lightly brush one’s fingertips along a passing ray as it glided serenely but purposefully in a circular route around the fringes of the pool. They are gentle animals with very distinctive personalities. Some enjoy all the attention from the wetsuit-clad humans and deliberately slow down to let you trail your fingers across their velvety skin before they swim on. Some are a little more standoffish, and, much like the aloof common housecat, will arch their bodies away from your touch as soon as you try it. But none of them—I repeat, none of them—are prone to panicking. And yet, though the skies had cleared to reveal a sunny day once more, there lingered the sense of a brewing storm about to break. And the rays apparently believed I was to blame.

As I neared the swirling outer ring of them and calmly submerged a hand to stroke their soft backs, they abruptly paused in unison and then inexplicably sped up. The gentle current of brown bodies turned to a spinning tide of anxious sea life. They raced past me, dodging my every attempt to make contact. Some of them flapped their wing-like fins at me above the surface of the water in a gesture reminiscent of an old Italian grandmother crossing herself to ward off evil spirits. I wavered, feeling stupefied, as if trapped in that scene from the first Jurassic Park movie, when Sam Neill was surprised by a flock of Gallimimus dinosaurs as the fleet-footed reptiles fled the terrifying Tyrannosaurus rex. And so I felt that I, too, should be alarmed and seek cover. Little did I realize that I was the T-Rex in this scenario and thus the perceived threat.

What the hell was happening? What kind of unsettling vibe could I possibly be giving off?

And then it came time for the dolphin experience. The momentous event that would cap off the entire day. The pivotal peak of my aquatic adventures. Nothing would spoil this singular celebration of the occasion of my birth.

I floated beside my husband and waited politely as the blonde pony-tailed trainer dispensed fun informative facts about the stars of the show, while she educated us on the proper way to interact with and carefully touch the dolphins. I giggled with the other people in our group as the two dolphins squeaked and clicked in response to certain hand signals the trainers would let us try. I marveled, too, at the amazingly high leaps and acrobatics they performed. But I couldn’t wait. We were nearing the pinnacle of all these impressive antics. Actually “swimming” with the dolphins!

We each took our turn getting to grasp the dorsal fin of one of the magnificent creatures as they hauled us through the water with a power and grace that stole one’s breath. My maritime companion was named Rosie, and she carried me forward like a sleek saltwater steed.

And then the best of the swim portion: the “double-foot dolphin push.” It involves placing the arch of each foot against the rostrums (the correct terminology for “snouts”) of a pair of dolphins and letting them propel you through the water with enough force to make you practically soar over the waves. When my chance came, I did precisely as instructed and away we went! My heart pounded as I rose above the surface with arms spread wide. I was Amphitrite, goddess-queen of the sea, and my dolphin subjects bore me forth with such ceremony that I fully expected to see my golden seashell-shaped chariot appear upon the shore ahead of me.

“Ah!” you say to yourself at this point. “This is where it happens. This must be the climactic sequence of disaster we’ve been waiting for!”

Wrong. Trust me, you have no idea where this is going.

All too quickly, the exhilaration ended and I was once again a tourist in a rubber suit bobbing alongside my water-logged acquaintances. But I was grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. What a great day it had been! Nothing could possibly mar this priceless experience.

The trainer thanked us all for being such a good crowd and wished us a fun-filled end to the day. We began to wade back to shore.

“But wait,” the trainer said with a sly smile. “There is actually one last part of this training that we forgot to show you.”

We all turned back around.

The trainer picked up the whistle hanging from her neck and gave two sharp tweets. The dolphin Rosie waited nearby with something white, stout, and tubular clenched between her jaws. The trainer rolled her hand in the air and pointed briskly in our direction.

Rosie burst forward and, for some reason, the people around me began to withdraw and leave me to stand there in the waist-deep water alone. I glanced at my husband, who had crossed his arms with a smile of satisfaction. At last, I ascertained that the dolphin was, in fact, headed straight for me. And she was holding a plastic buoy in her mouth. It was a buoy that she carried very determinedly and which she did not look ready to relinquish any time soon. And then I understood what this meant. It was so obvious, it was laughable.

No doubt about it: This was a test.

Something took over. Normally, I am a fairly mild-mannered person in most situations. But for some reason, it was like a surge of adrenaline made me lose my mind. The world vanished around me and all I could see was this prize coming my way. And I was irrationally and irreversibly convinced that this was my trial.

My single-minded goal must be to capture that buoy.

Though not of the same magnitude as one of the twelve labors of Hercules, it would nonetheless be a monumental feat that would reveal my mettle, my steely resolve. It was a challenge I must meet in order to show that I was worthy of having this special day. I could not be bested by a denizen of the deep with sardine breath and a penchant for backflips.

Childhood recollections of apprehensive situations began to flood back: being stuck in gym class facing the dreaded climbing rope; my older brother and his friends playing keep-away with my stuffed Funshine Care Bear; me, in knee-high purple socks trotting around the outer edge of the soccer field praying that the ball would never roll my way. All of it—every anxious memory of failure—consolidated into a dense ball of desperation that was about to go super-nova.

I had an audience that was watching me, waiting to see what I’d do. I needed to prove myself. And I sure as hell was not gonna blow it.

So, as the creature swam gleefully up to me, I spread my feet in the sand to brace myself and shook out my hands to limber them up. Then, the very second Rosie was in range, I bent down and wrenched the plastic buoy from her mouth and thrust it victoriously over my head.

“Yes! I win, motherf%*ker!”

I’m not sure whether I actually screamed that aloud or not, but by the slack-jawed expressions on everyone’s faces—including, I swear, the dolphin’s—the message rang out loud and clear regardless.

This was a complete “Dolphin Swim” package, so I’m well aware that there’s enough video evidence kept somewhere deep in the vaults of SeaWorld to put me away for a long, long time. Because after the stunned hush settled so that only the lapping of the water and the distant laughter of children could be heard, the trainer cleared her throat.

“Uh, you…you might want to…read it now.”

Panting, the buoy still clutched in triumph overhead, I stared at her. “What?”

She pointed wordlessly above me. Then the other visitors joined in, all of them raising their arms and gesturing in the same direction as the trainer. I looked down at the dolphin. Rosie hovered in the water, her mouth still open like she was even then trying to figure out what the hell this human had just done to her.

The trainer finally gave a loud sigh and scowled. “The buoy. Look at the buoy.”

Confusion gripped me. What was she talking about? I didn’t need to look at the buoy. I had the buoy. I vanquished my opponent. I did not fold under pressure. I crushed this test.

And yet I was surrounded by people pointing at the damn buoy and demanding that I look at it.

Fine.

Aggravated, I lowered the plastic tubular object and glared at it.

Discovery Cove of Orlando.

Yeah, I knew that already.

“Turn it over!” someone shouted.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Shaking my head, I rotated the buoy. What was the big deal about—

I paused. My cheeks started to burn like the morning after you’ve spent a day baking in the sun and immediately regretted it.

Happy Birthday, Karen!

The words—carefully written in blue marker with decorative dots accenting the letters—seemed to pulse against the white plastic.

I raised my face. And looked straight at my husband.

I don’t know how much extra he had paid for the birthday surprise. But it was too much. I could tell it was too much by the way the light faded from his eyes after watching me shake the buoy overhead and perform a sort of kicking-splashing dance in the midst of my madness. He began to sink down into the water, as if he were the living metaphor of being swallowed by shame. But there was no hiding from everyone around him, no way to escape the questioning stares they directed at him. No way to deny any association with the cackling blonde waving the buoy like William Wallace brandishing the Scottish flag over the heads of his compatriots after battle.

Which also made the post-Dolphin Swim photo shoot understandably awkward. Even as I took my turn putting my arm around the smooth body of Rosie for the Discovery Cove photographer, that dolphin refused to look me in the eye. The trainer had informed us that porpoises have a sophisticated system of communication comprised of clicks and whistles. What might Rosie and the others have talked about after my spastic little episode? Well, I don’t know what it would sound like, but I’m confident there’s a specific term in dolphin-speak for “asshat.”

The silence in the car during the first half of the ride home was telling. And I could see by the look of concentration on his face that my husband was mentally rewinding to that divorce lawyer commercial we’d seen on TV the night before and trying to recall the 1-800 number. I remember glancing guiltily at the beach bag in the back of our old Hyundai Santa Fe, where the white tip of the buoy just poked up from within it.

“That really was very cool, baby,” I spoke up hesitantly. “I had a great time. Uh…how about you?”

He turned and gave me a solemn look. “You do know we can never go back there now, right?”

“Yeah, but…hey: free buoy.”

He sighed and shook his head. But five minutes later, even over the sound of Aerosmith on the radio, I could hear him chuckling to himself.