Lessons from the Deep End
A summer at the pool brings puberty and a new outlook on a boy’s life.
By Lester L. Polk
Pop Warner football, Boy Scouts, music lessons, karate school. As a youngster, I was quick to fall in love with the activities typical of boyhood. The exciting novelty of each extracurricular pastime would captivate my heart and sweep me off my feet. I was going to be a football star, no, a drummer in a rock band. I’d rise to be an Eagle Scout, get my black belt. Then the reality of the hard work involved to achieve those things would reveal itself.
With football I didn’t quite meet the weight requirement. Thank you very much, McDonald’s! With the Boy Scouts, I couldn’t remember the knots or be on time for the meetings. With music, I couldn’t keep time or my drumsticks. I went through at least a dozen pair. Karate was an entirely different animal. The sensei wanted me — with all his nerve — to do push-ups on my knuckles.
Like a failing government program, my mother, bless her heart, would pour finances into activity after activity, hoping to see me succeed at something and be happy. But each activity would end with waste. Fresh, crisp karate ghees never worn, countless drumsticks orphaned on park benches and city buses, and football cleats that never saw a speck of dirt, not to mention the official Boy Scout handbook that was never read. And so, the romance with each activity would end. We would drift apart and begin to see other people.
I had become world champ at one thing — quitting. At that point in my young life, I had not learned the principle of delayed gratification. I wanted immediate rewards, and if I was going to undertake an activity, it better be fun — and easy. No painstaking effort for me!
Just when about all was lost, my cousin Melvin offered to take me along to the local pool. I hadn’t been to the pool in years, so I readily agreed. I never imagined that that small decision at the ripe old age of twelve would shape me for the years to come.
When I arrived at the pool, I noticed something quite interesting. It was more than aquatic center for youth, it was a hangout for kids. Just about everyone from the neighborhood could be found there.
I couldn’t swim well, but I soon upped my game. Swimming was necessary for survival, social survival, that is. All those in the “in” crowd showed off on the spring diving board and to be able to enter the deep end you had to be able to swim two full laps back and forth.
My anxiety about being the odd man out quickly diluted my aversion to practice and hard work. In fact, I rapidly became such a good swimmer that I was accepted for the swim team. I had finally learned that you had to earn things in life.
The swim team was divided into two groups: the older teens, who were at the top of the pecking order, and the kids, who obeyed them without question, waiting to move up the totem pole. Graciously, I was granted access to the team’s upper echelons by way of Melvin, who was a few years older than me. Because of this connection, I was allowed to avoid the most of the fraternal hazing that was common for the newbies.
It didn’t hurt that I was very big for my age, looking about three years older than a typical 12-year-old. It was a blessed characteristic that got me in, but I had to struggle to find a way to keep me in, which was quite a challenge given my immaturity. I made up for my inadequacies with my swimming skills. I may have been a child among men, but I was all man when I jumped in the water. My abilities gave me a sense of self that could not be stolen or discredited by any clumsy, self defeating act of immaturity.
Inside this young adult circle, I learned of a strange ritual called dating, which was the real reason for the popularity of the pool. Since just about all the males were black and nearly all the females were white, this made for some interesting pairings, especially as there were no parents around. We were supervised by open-minded, liberal college-aged adults so for the most part it was an anything-goes environment. Combine this culture with my budding adolescence and the stage was set for some life lessons.
In those days, I was the Biblical Adam, without knowledge of any wrongdoing or personal shortcomings. I lived in pure bliss, what was was and there was no need for anything else. The pull between that which I had and that which I wanted did not yet exist. This naïveté ended when girls entered the picture, and by their mere presence demanded my attention.
Up until then, my inner circle of friends consisted of the average pre-teen fare: the delinquent, the athlete, the spoiled brat, the clown, the mama’s boy, and the fat kid (me), all following our particular path in our youth society. Yet now I was confronted with something entirely outside my small world— developing young belles, who despite my best efforts, spurned all my advances like the plague.
I honestly never knew I was alone until I saw everyone in my new adopted group of the swim team paired up. This caused an intense longing in me for the same. The innocent days of simple pleasures ended when I became aware of the warm sensation of cuddling. How could I go back to just lying on my beach towel alone? Who wanted to roughhouse with another boy when there were soft girls to snuggle with? We used to take off our shirts because we were hot. Now we took off the shirts to show we were hot. However, because I was the fat kid and not the athlete, this did not produce the results that I desired.
Yes, I had arrived at puberty, with all of its joys and sorrows, but I never did find love or lust at the pool. It just wasn’t my time. I heard it once said that the best coaches are those who ride the bench. If I had come to the conclusion that it was okay to be alone and just enjoy the summer, I would’ve had a more enjoyable time.
However, the pool wasn’t just about socially awkward, hormone-driven situations. I was able to satisfy my wanderlust by escaping the inner city for league tournaments and competitions every weekend. Nothing beat those competitions. The anticipation before I heard the sharp snap of the starter’s pistol. The tightness of the goggles pressing against my brown eyes. The flame in my lungs telling me I was giving it my very best. And the exhaustion rewarded by an undisputed win.
Those competitions taught me a lot about people, such as they love you when you win, especially when your speed brings home the league championship, but friends still love you when you lose, allowing the dreaded crosstown rivals to walk away with your trophy. Damn them!
What I loved best of all was the feeling of that dry, ashy coat of chlorine all over my skin until I learned to use lotion. Most of my days at the pool would end with a walk down to McDonald’s to get a 25-cent (plus two-cents tax) vanilla soft-serve ice cream. Sometimes I wouldn’t have the quarter, but it didn’t matter. I had the pool, and a bounty of life lessons that didn’t cost Mom anything.
About the Author
Lester L. Polk is a freelance writer who enjoys receiving feedback from readers. He can be reached at CSP-LA County, H-72800 A2–206L, P.O. Box 4430, Lancaster, CA 93539–4430.
