Water Rescue
I’ve never been a swimmer. Childhood swim lessons didn’t take, even with three tries. Sure, I learned to float and to tread water, but I could not—no matter how hard I tried—put my head under without holding my nose. I was told to take a deep breath, then exhale slowly while submerged, but I couldn’t get the slowly part. My breath would be gone in a second and then the water entered my nose unhindered, filling every cavity in my head and overwhelming me, not only with water, but with extreme fear. In other words, I panicked. Big time.
My fears grew in my teens when I nearly drowned in the ocean. I’d dogpaddled out to a sandbar one day with no problem, but when I attempted it the next day, the tide was in, the water deeper, and I tired before reaching the sandbar. When I stretched my feet downwards to rest, I couldn’t touch bottom and started splashing wildly, my face being mercilessly hit by waves, head going under. Fortunately, a nearby swimmer saw my panic and towed me to shore.
When my kids were little, our family joined a neighborhood pool. After all, it was a fun activity to fill the summer days and they needed to learn to swim. While encouraging them to not be afraid of water, I would force myself to put my head under as I held each of their hands rather than my nose. We’d move in a circle, singing ring around the rosie. When we got to ashes, ashes, we all fall down, under the water we’d go. Pure torture for me, so I seldom did it and was always quick to resurface, but it helped the kids grow comfortable when submerged. They also had better outcomes with swim lessons than me. Mission accomplished.
With the kids now grown, I have no reason to get back in the water. If we take our grandchildren to the pool, George splashes with them and I watch from the side. He’s an experienced swimmer and scuba diver, the perfect one to help them get comfortable. I’m content watching over the towels and car keys.
George would love to go on an ocean cruise, but I’ve told him he would have to go with a different wife. I refuse to be so far out in the water that I can’t see shore. When walking on the beach, if I even get wet, it’s never more than my toes. Sharks, you know.
Heaven help me if I ever get swept up in a flood, like what recently stormed through the Appalachian Mountains. People drowned and homes and businesses were destroyed. The stuff of nightmares.
It may seem odd that water is the only liquid I consume. I don’t drink coffee, tea, alcohol, or sodas. Only water. It refreshes me and quenches my thirst. But apart from drinking it, I stay away from it. Don’t much like taking a shower. And don’t ask even ask about a bath.
There’s no better water rescue than flat refusing to get in.
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