Diving Into the Deep End

Diving Into the Deep End

9/10/10

            Almost every day of the summer when I lived in Sunset Hills, Missouri, just west of St. Louis, my family and I would travel the two minutes across Lindbergh Avenue and park at the Sunset Hills Pool for a day of relaxation and sun. Since my mom was a teacher, she received a free summer pass that allowed us the freedoms of the water whenever we desired. Being only about seven years old, I enjoyed the luxuries of the “toddler end”, a small, gated enclosure that boasted a very shallow pool near the entrance of the complex. Looking back, the water couldn’t have been more than two feet high at its deepest point but to a young tyke such as myself, I swore I was neck deep in the deepest water imaginable. I remember bringing my bag of pool toys, stuffed with miniature plastic boats, squishy pool balls, rainbow striped torpedoes, Styrofoam noodles, tiny colorful rings, and my assorted action figures that probably shouldn’t have been anywhere near the water. Spiderman’s paint eventually disappeared after the first couple of trips, leaving him very shiny and gray.

            Upon arriving, my dad would attempt to protect the car from the sweltering heat with a windshield cover, to little effect, as the rest of us, lathered with sunscreen and sporting cheap sunglasses and flip-flops, would check in and change in the locker rooms. From there, I would skip across the sizzling pavement to the little gate that served as the entrance to my temporary sanctuary. My feet sighed with relief as the cold water of the pool finally engulfed my steaming toes. Gradually adjusting to the temperature change, I would venture deeper and deeper into the blue water until I was about stomach high. My mom would bring the bag to me and I would enter an imaginary world where those pool toys came alive. The squishy ball repeatedly skipped across the gleaning surface of the water as my brother and I struggled to best each other. Plastic boats would catastrophically explode, careening into the water and sinking to the abyss. Superheroes would suddenly fall and splash, echoing sharply on the pool floor. Also, I’m positive the entire pool could here the slaps of the noodles on the surface of the water and occasionally on the bare skin of my brother’s back. I was content and dreaded leaving that wonderful place, that escape from home, school, sports, and all things stressful.

            One eventful day, as I skipped across the pavement to my hallowed ground, my dad called out to me. I turned and stared, confused as to why he was taking the bag and our towels to the opposite end of the pool, into adult territory under a large canopy. I followed, hesitant to the change. After we set up on a trio of pool chairs, my dad asked me if I would want to try and swim in the deep end. I had been expecting this day for a while, yet I didn’t want to abandon my sacred pool. I had come to love the familiar water, the gradual sloping ground, and the comforts of guaranteed safety. I didn’t want to abandon my toys for the inhospitable waters in the deep end. I couldn’t even see the bottom, let alone touch it. Like all children in situations demanding maturity, I responded with the opposite, a crying tantrum lasting ten minutes at least. Finally, I reluctantly agreed and followed my dad’s wet footsteps across the pavement, leaping to match his strides.

            As I gazed at the scared little boy in the reflection of the deep blue chasm before me, a battle was raging in the depths of my mind. I knew that many of my friends already frequented the deep end and I aspired to be like them, yet I was so fond of my little pool near the entrance that I had no desire to take that plunge. I yearned for the familiarity of those waters, waters that seemed now so far away from the lonesome blue beneath my soles. Frying under the hot sun, my tear-strewn eyes found my dad, floating about five feet away, arms outstretched, welcoming me to him. He didn’t understand how I was feeling. This wasn’t just a jump into deeper water; it was a deliberate step away from my previous comforts. I was straying outside of myself, speeding uncontrollably towards maturity. I didn’t want to embrace getting older just yet. I wanted to remain blissful and ignorant. I made my decision and bent my knees low, tensing my muscles for the leap into that cold blue. I pushed and felt my toenails scrape the concrete as I launched upwards. My arms flailed as I dove for my dad’s arms, as I dove for safety. My body collided with the chilling water and I submerged completely for the first time in my life. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for death or some other pain. Instead, I felt only the steady hands of my father lifting me to light. The sunlight blinded me as I gasped from below. Clutching hard to my dad’s back, I struggled to regain my balance as I panted with fear. I could smell the strong sunscreen on his head that brought me comfort. I had survived the deep end.

            That leap into the unknown held much more importance to me than any other action I could recall from my younger years. It symbolized the development of self-discipline, courage, and responsibility within me. From then on, I only occasionally found solace in toys and the patterns of my youth. I found my mind being drawn more to helping others. Horseplay with my brother lessened, and I began to recognize the importance of maturity. The cold water in that lonely pool so far from my previous sanctuary had shocked me into a sense of being. It had revealed my weaknesses, allowing me to substitute them for life’s ever occurring realities.