The summer of 1978, my mother decided it was time I learned to swim. I was six years old. Water was always fun as long as I could touch the bottom or hang on to the side. I didn't mind dunking under the water, but only with my eyes shut tight and my nose pinched closed. Splashing was okay as long as I could control the amount directed toward my face.
Right away I knew I was in trouble when the teacher wanted me to hold my breath for more than two seconds at a time without pinching my nose. I had to lift my feet off the bottom of the pool and “tread” water without any kind of floatation device. Then when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she expected me to kick and paddle away from the safety of the side. Clearly she had no idea how ridiculous her requests were. I mean, how was I supposed to keep water out of my nose and eyes while doing all that? The last straw was when she dropped her keys in the not-so-shallow end and said, “Whoever gets the keys first, wins!” I tried, oh how I tried. Stretching and straining, I tilted so close to the surface that my ear dipped under, but it was no use. I just couldn't reach the keys and keep my head above water at the same time. How could she ask me to do something so impossible? Even though I was ready to give up, go back home and color and draw in the safe confines of my house the rest of the summer, neither the teacher or my mother agreed. Finally, I was assigned my very own teen-aged volunteer to help with the rough spots separate from the rest of the group. She was quiet, friendly, and reminded me of my favorite cousin. We clicked right from the start. Slow and steady was my course. I still had a hard time putting my head underwater, but she held me up as I learned how to kick and paddle, all the way across the shallow end of the pool. My biggest thrill came when she showed me how to float on my back. Even to this day, I remember how to keep my back arched, head back, and hold a big breath like a bubble in my chest. I can't begin to describe the exhilaration of when she let go and I floated all by myself. The last day of swimming lessons finally arrived, along with the test of all tests... JUMPING OFF THE DIVING BOARD. Of course it was a little diving board, just three steps from the ground, not the insanely high diving board six steps from the ground. However, to this little six year old, it might as well have been on the highest cliff directly above the smallest pond. The teacher claimed all we had to do was climb three little steps, walk along the normal low board and jump off into her waiting arms. RIGHT. Propelled by all the shouts of, Come on! You can do it!, I braved the three enormous steps, walked down the never-ending diving board and looked down at my teacher, her arms open wide ready to receive me. The longer I looked down, the farther away she shrank. I wrapped my arms around myself and my knees locked. Torn between victory and crawling back to the stairs to leave the swimming pool forever in shame, my moment of redemption came in the form of my mother. She stood on the other said of the chain-linked fence, her fingers interlocked amongst the links. “I will get you anything you want. Anything at all, if you will jump off!” I took a long hard moment to deliberate on what would be worth risking my life and limb for. There was only one thing—ONE THING—that would tempt me enough to put my life in the hands of a woman who was simply treading water in the deep end of the pool where I had no hope of touching the bottom. My arms still wrapped around my tiny frame, I asked, “Can I have a box of 64 crayons?” My mother didn’t miss a beat. “Yes! Yes! Anything you want!” I looked from my mom down to my teacher and took that one last terrifying step. I SURVIVED. True to her word, my mother drove me straight from the swimming pool to Hyde's drugstore. I led the way to the aisle that held the prize of all prizes...Crayola’s box of 64 Crayons. An extraordinary supply of exotic colors divided into four individual holders with sixteen crayons each, including bronze, silver, and gold. If that wasn’t enough, the icing on the cake—a built-in sharpener in the back. My life was complete, and I never had to jump off the diving board again.
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