The Summer of Chlorine Splashes
The summer swimming classes of '85 are etched in my brain’s RAM. I have a peculiar hardwiring for this memory: blue chlorine water, tall concrete diving boards, wrestler-like coaches, and the savory snack vendor outside the pool.
My dad decided it was time for me to conquer my aquaphobia. On D-Day, I woke up excited, unaware of what lay ahead. My mom dressed me in a gaudy and oversized swimsuit and topped it off with a T-shirt. I looked like a colorful tote bag.
The government pool looked like a mermaid’s land, with blue sparkling water, a frothy two-step fountain, and a tall, staggered diving deck. Black rubber tubes were scattered around the shallow end. My dad picked out a rubber tube for me, and I lifted my arms as he slid it over my head. It settled awkwardly at my waist. He led me to the edge of the pool, and before I could protest or ask questions, he pushed me. Sploosh! I hit the water and went deeper, grappling to hold my breath. I gasped in shock at my dad’s sudden betrayal.
After an eternity of desperation, I stayed afloat. “Kick your legs!” was all I heard from above. I gathered enough courage to lift my head and watch the other kids at the far end of the pool, jumping off the diving boards and emerging like happy dolphins. I felt trapped, clinging to my dinghy rubber tube. The coaches were grumpy men barking orders as if it were a military swimming camp. I was glad that Dad was my teacher, or I might have drowned in panic!
Just then, my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at home. Famished! I climbed out of the pool and dashed straight to the snack vendor.
His cart was a treasure trove of spicy, tangy dishes. I got myself a pack of seasoned puffed rice and gleefully munched on it. I preferred this post-swim activity to swimming. After a month of this ritual, I felt like an Olympic champion, now equipped with a butterfly stroke in my swimming skills. I was eager to show off at school post-holidays and told my friends, “Guess what? I can dive from the diving board!” My classmates stared wide-eyed. I nodded, trying to look cool. I left out how I gasped for breath and clung to the tube. 😉.
I wonder, is this a good bedtime story for my grandkid?" :)