I don’t know if I can take it… Memories of an African childhood

I had a farm in Afrika, at the foot of the Ngong hills…

As a child, growing up in deepest darkest Africa surviving on a diet of porridge and flies (ok they were raisons, but my mom would call them flies), we would on occasion (special birthdays or Christmas) get comic books smuggled out of the US of A. As Tasha mentioned the Sea Monkeys were advertised on the back of every one. For years I dreamt of the happy time, when maybe I too could have these little creatures be my friends.

Years went by, I’d see the ads and dream of my own little family, but for years it was not to be.

Finally the corner store which was 3 days walk away (about 30 minutes by truck) got Sea Monkeys. Though I was 22 and one would think past Sea Monkey appreciation age, I worked ‘till I could afford a little family of my own.

Days went by (ok, not really, I walked to the nearest ATM to withdraw the funds required for my purchase), as I worked I continued dreaming of the little family. Maybe there'd be a little Sea Monkey boy, I’d call him Chip and I’d get him a baseball bat so that he could play with his friends, and compete in the world Sea Monkey baseball tournament – held in his own little fish bowl where his happy little sea monkey family could cheer him on.

I purchased the sea monkeys followed the instructions, days went by (this time it was actually days) and nothing happened…

My dreams were crushed, all hope for Sea Monkey happy days lost.
Hope faded and another little African child was disappointed. I agree with Tasha, stop the madness, Rise Up! !

Not only are they ripped from their home separated from their families, but they are freeze dried, packaged and shipped to far off lands.

Years later after leaving the mother land, I ended up in Baltimore where a friend of mine, after hearing the story purchased another freeze dried family, this time they lived! Yes, they lived! !
You can only imagine the happiness and cheer, until an unfortunate accident sent their home flying though the air, it hit the wall, little Sea Monkeys everywhere. My last glimpse as tears welled up was of my adopted family on the floor. Little Chip was reaching for his baseball bat, as he gulped struggling to catch a breath of water. There was nothing I could do.

That is why to honor his memory I started spending as much time as I could in the water. In short that is how I started the long route to triathlon.
For me, Sea Monkeys have everything to do with Triathlon.

If you can’t beat them join them, if we can’t stop this horrendous trade in scrimpy families. I think we should start selling Sea Monkey triathlon gear, we could find sponsors to advertise on their teensy weensy sweaters and we could even advertise in the triathlon magazines.

Who’s with me?