The first time I remember swimming is when I was 1 ½ or 2 years old. My parents took me to the beach, probably a beach in the city of Hermosa Beach, California. Unfortunately, I had a bad experience there where some waves kept knocking me down. It scared me so bad that I became afraid of the water.
When I was ten, the first time I went to the beach at Zephyr Cove on the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe, I got second-degree sunburn on my back and legs. Especially painful were the back of my knees. I was bed ridden for three or four days and could not go with my stepfather to help on our tour boat. I don’t know why, but mother put some type of sunburn oil on my skin. She also put vinegar on me to “cool” the burn, which worked until it evaporated. In spite of her help and the soothing effects, I really did not want her to touch me, as the pain was so great when she did so. After those experiences, I was not remotely interesting in swimming ever again. At 10, I was already a wimp.
I eventually joined the Boy Scouts and wanted to be able to swim 50 yards in order to obtain my First Class badge. Towards that end, I took a Red Cross swimming class one summer. I learned to hold my breath and swim the length of the pool while under water. I found that very fun – grabbing a breath, diving down five feet to the bottom of the pool, and then traveling the length gradually rising to the surface by the time I reached the other end of the pool. However, I could not hold my breath long enough to swim 50-yards.
One good thing that happened was that I met a boy who lived not too far from me. We walked home together and began to engage in sex play. He told me that he had seen by balls several times at the pool as they were hanging out one of my swimming suit legs a little bit. Actually, I was not wearing a swimming suit; I was using a pair of gym style shorts that were a tad too small for me. That is to say, they showed lots of leg, and apparently, some testicle. In my defense, I did not own a swimming suit then and the “gym” shorts were all I had. But after that day, I also wore underpants for the rest of the classes.
A month or two later on, my Scoutmaster tried to teach me and help me learn to swim. At one point, he asked me to float for 5-minutes; I could not. He then said to do the Jellyfish Float. I told him I do not float; I sink. Naturally, he did not believe me. So, I took three deep breaths, held the last one, bent over and grabbed my ankles, and promptly began to sink slowly to the bottom of the pool. When I stood up, he said that never saw anyone who could sink doing the Jellyfish Float. A couple of weeks later, one of our assistant scoutmasters, Jim Leamon (a game warden) was able to pass me on the swimming requirement. He worked with me for a few days using skin diving flippers to strengthen my legs and improve my coordination.
I took leave from the Air Force when my son was 3-years old. We went to some town in southern Florida and stayed in a motel that had a swimming pool. We had not put his inflatable “floaters” on his arms yet, when he just jumped into the pool. We were stunned. Before either his mom or I could move, he was paddling like crazy with only his eyes above water. That scared us, so we enrolled him in a Red Cross swimming class when we got back to the base.
My wife related that during the class, all the mothers had to wait outside the fence surrounding the pool while the class was in progress. At one point, the kids were supposed to be holding on to the edge of the pool practicing kicking their legs. Deborah looked up and there was Destin up to his eyes in water again. He had let go of the pool edge and the teenage instructors and lifeguards were not paying attention. She began screaming at them and at first they ignored her and gave her looks like “what’s wrong with you?” Finally, one of them heard what she was saying and rescued Destin before he drowned.
At the same Air Force Base, all of my then three children were on the swimming team (because it included free lessons). At their first competition, my oldest girl came in first in her race and my second oldest came in second in hers. However, poor little Destin came in last in his race. His group had to hold on to a foam flotation board and kick their way across the pool. My son was not kicking but “running” so his upper leg was greatly retarding his forward movement. It took him about 15-minutes to travel the length of the pool. I am not sure he was responsible or if the wind eventually blew him across.
As you may discern from this list of swimming tales, I may play in shallow water, but I definitely do not like to be in the swim.
© 10 September 2012
About the Author
Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach, both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, lived with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while his parents obtained a divorce; unknown to him.
He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. He says, “I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.”
Ricky’s story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.
