When I was a child, my parents didn't take a "family vacation" some summers. Instead, they sent me off to summer camp, which was enough vacation for them, I guess. On one such occasion, they sent me off for an interminable ten days to a YMCA camp called "Camp Wood". I was about nine years old and an only child. I was introverted and a non-swimmer. For me, swimming was, to quote Bill Cosby, "staying alive in the water". I had allergies and my sinuses were constantly inflamed. If chlorinated water got up my nose, it felt like someone had set my snot on fire. Therefore, if I was in water more than four feet deep, out came my nose plugs. It was swimming that kept me from getting beyond a "Star" rank in Boy Scouts.
When I got to Camp Wood, I soon discovered that it was organized a little like a country club. The lake had two beaches--the shallow one with the kiddy swings for the non-swimmers and the cool beach with the deeper water and the water slide for the swimmers. I was a few years older than almost all the kids on the kiddy beach and was going to make myself absolutely miserable unless I could graduate to the older boys' beach. To do that meant that I would have to swim from the edge of the kiddy beach out to a floating dock about 50 yards out into the lake. From where I stood on the edge of the water at the kiddy beach, the dock looked to me to be only one or two strokes closer than hell itself. Not only that, but there would be kids and adults nearby watching me. Who knows if they were rooting for me to make it or were hoping to see something their parents would be most interested hearing about?
There was a lifeguard standing on the dock. He looked to me to be a young man of about 17. I'm not very good at judging these things, as I never had an older brother or even a male relative under 21. I suspect that it was only the prospect of that young man coming to my rescue that gave me the courage needed to attempt to swim toward the raft.
I would give anything to see a home movie of my valiant effort to look graceful while flailing all four skinny limbs in a desperate attempt to keep from consuming too much of the lake. By the time I reached the dock, I was totally exhausted, a fact that I'm sure was obvious to the young man looking worriedly down at me. Nevertheless, one got no credit for merely reaching the dock. No. One had to swim back to the shore from whence I had come.
I'm sure the lifeguard offered me his hand. But I was too embarrassed and determined to pass the test, so I turned back toward shore hoping against hope that I would find the strength somehow to make it all the way. Well, I only made it a few yards before I started to flounder. The lifeguard was on me in a couple of seconds, lifting me up and putting me under his arm to sweep me back to the safety of the dock.
"This must be what it feels like to be Sleeping Beauty", I thought. No, not really. But it did feel pretty sweet, though humiliating.
None of the other campers ever mentioned my fiasco, nor did I ever tell my parents about it. Camp ended on a much higher note, when I placed first in the broad jump in the track meet on the last morning of camp. Somehow, solid ground just seems to suit me better.
17 June 2013
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