From Shamu to Shamwow...

One week ago tonight, Teresa and I put our kids to bed and then had one last night putting our weary heads to rest on a pillow in the Sunshine State before departing for the land of the bleak, which Minnesota can become in the depths of autumn with the dreary skies that often accompany the cooler temps.

Looking back now almost seven days after departure, I can't help but think about all the wonderful memories we accumulated from the trip which got off to a humorous start with my little guy Shea exclaiming, after our plane touched down at the Orlando Airport thus completing his first-ever flight, "Yeaaaaaa...we didn't die!!!" much to the amusement of some of our surrounding passengers, which I only detected from their snickering because I had buried my head in my jacket in embarassment after a quick, "shhhhhh" his way.

I hate to get into too much detail on the trip, but one memory that I think about most often took part in our first full day in Florida when we decided to brave the 96 degree/100 percent humidity for a few hours of fun in the sun at Sea World. Of course, as many of you prior Sea World visitors can attest, no trip there is complete without venturing over to Shamu Stadium to take in the killer whales on display. The killer whales are icons of Sea World's existence which are unavoidable if your kids even only possess the most basic knowledge about Sea World.

After strolling our way through the park, we finally made it over Shamu's way to take in the show. Standing outside the gates of the stadium, waiting for the gates to open was much like I envision it must feel like standing at the gates of hell waiting for your number to come up.

It was hot and sticky no matter where we stood, so we tried patiently to wait for the gates to open...as patiently as one can be with your clothing sticking to you as annoyingly as possible with a little trickle of blood rolling down your chin as you bite your lip. The biting is needed if you have any hope of trying hard not to cross the line from irrational tourist to the lead story on each of Orlando's major network affiliate's 10 o'clock newscasts (or is it 11 o'clock news down there?) because of some heat-induced fit of rage.

Eventually we all got inside and as we made our way down to our eventual seats, we paid little attention to the "Soak Zone" warning signs telling us we could get wet in this area. At this point, a little mist from the 50-something degree water from Shamu's tank would have been a welcomed relief for all of us, so we ignored the warning and found a seat in about the 6th or 7th row in the lower level.

To make a long story short, the whales and their trainers put on a marvelous show...a splendid display of grace and beauty, which is surprising considering the girth of those mammals. We all laughed and giggled as other sections in the lower level got more than their fair share of soakings from Shamu's well-planned belly flops. However, as I checked my cell phone clock, I realized the show would be over soon and even remarked to my daughter that we made it through without getting wet.

I'm not sure how good a killer whale's hearing is, but I swear the moment those words left my mouth, one of the whales made a complete 180 as she was heading out of the tank in front of us and decided to do a victory lap of sorts. At first I found it cute and then laughed some more when I realized she was giving one last shower to those in the Soak Zone and as she neared us, I figured I was still hot, so a little cool water wouldn't hurt after all.

As Shamu swam closer, I ducked my head a little bit to shield some of my face with the brim of my cap, figuring the mist of salt water might burn my eyes. I learned quickly that was the least of my problems as Shamu sent a tsunami-sized wall of water in our direction which completely doused me and nearly knocked me up and over my backrest. Poor Katie, who was seated next to me, not only endured her share of water but also got the "friendly fire" from all the water that caromed off her daddy and richocheted her way.

Thank goodness I don't have a heart condition, because the contrast of the frigidity of the water hitting me and the hot conditions on the exterior took my breath away and I'm positive the ol' ticker gave some thought to throwing in the towel (and I'm sure it would be been a beach towel.).
It wasn't long and I shot up to my feet and sprinted up the stairway to get as far away from of the Soak Zone, still hyperventilating a bit and fearful another shot from Shamu would lead me to be the first person ever to drown with both feet firmly planted on land.

As I got up into the "safe zone," I looked down at the white radio-promotion contest shirt I was wearing at the time and realized I looked like some spring breaker at a wet T-shirt contest. While I know I got some water in my ears, I still swear I heard some Bubba yelling at me, "Skin to win, big feller! Skin to win!"

Needless to say, we all made it out of there in one piece, albeit one very damp piece. We weren't very smart about our approach to Sea World the rest of the day as shortly after the Shamu shenanigans, we took in the Antarctic (or was it Arctic?) display which is indoors and is cooled by air conditioning units which were industrial strengthed and definitely on high. It was at this point I thought, "Great, I barely survive almost becoming the first dry-ground drowning casualty in the history of mankind, only to bite the bullet as the first person to ever die of hypothermia in Florida."

In the end, it was a valuable lesson learned that when the folks at Sea World label something Soak Zone, they're not talking about a swell place to take in some of the sun's rays.