What do you get when you add two teenagers, two kayaks and one stifling August morning steeped in curl-the-hair-on-your-head humidity?

A great time.

A slow paddle, sure. But a great time nonetheless.

Adults can talk for hours about how lazy they think today’s teenagers are, but I’d say for summertime paddling, they have the right idea.

Take it easy.

I launched with my two double-digit companions recently around 9 a.m. The blueway beckoned, they wanted to go.

They also hadn’t wanted to get up too early to do it. I know this because I woke them before I left the house to go running and asked them to be dressed and have eaten breakfast once I returned 45 minutes later. Then we can get out there before it’s hot, I said with too much enthusiasm too early in the day for their teen ears.

You guessed it. When I returned from the run, they were still in bed. Get this: They hadn’t even remembered our conversation or waking up.

But the second time is a charm. They dragged themselves into upright positions and not long later, we were off. Five minutes to the launch site, five minutes to apply sunscreen and bug spray, one minute for me to ask them multiple times why they didn’t have hats, 30 seconds to praise them for at least having sunglasses, and then five minutes to get the boats in the water.

Whew.

We were off. For real this time.

Then about five minutes later, I realized they were paddling at such a leisurely pace I was going to feel like a cattle dog at a round up.

Everybody having fun, I asked after circling back. Yes, they said with smiles.

Everybody handling their boats OK? Yes, great, they replied.

Why so slow, asks I.

The answer: Why not?

It’s hot. It’s fun to go slow. It’s morning. What’s the hurry?

Seeing as all these comments were said respectfully and they made a good point that it was quite toasty even though noon was far, far away … well, I actually listened.

See, grownups sometimes listen to teenagers.

I’m glad I did.

The three of us enjoyed an hour on the water. No matter the distance covered was miniscule.

The mangroves were still lush. The blue sky still kissed the blue water. The wading birds didn’t care.

But wait. Maybe I should have checked the birds’ plumage more carefully. They could have been juveniles.