WHEN NATURE CALLS : Swimming pools are more than just a cool place on a hot day
Posted on Sunday, June 22, 2008
The diving board
still vibrated from
the last user as I stepped aboard and looked out across the crystal clear waters. There she was, the prettiest gal in the pool and for the briefest of moments, our eyes locked. This was the time I’d always heard about — the time to impress. I’d made a fool of myself all day on that diving board but now things were different. Being a juvenile idiot in front of other juvenile idiots is a rite of passage but so is trying one’s best to leave a favorable mark when the smoking hot girl from your junior high math class shows up. Suddenly, the board appeared longer, narrower, more treacherous. I wasn’t trotting down a diving board anymore. Nope, I was walking the plank.
Time froze for a second as water dripped off my trunks and my calf muscles tensed for the coming event. I was Terry Bradshaw. This was the Super Bowl. It was time to shine. Focused, I sucked in a mouthful of air and exploded off the end of the board.
Somewhere between the half-gainer I envisioned and the back flip I’d have settled for, a problem arose: I didn’t have the slightest clue how to do a half-gainer. By the time I realized the faux pas, it was too late for a back flip, too. So, with thoughts of “ This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, ” buoying in my mind like infant arm floats, I did a partial swan dive and half a jackknife, which led to a full-frontal belly flop. My suddenly beet-red tummy flared pain but I stayed underwater for just a bit. Unlike the finger-pointing hoots and hollers from my friends on the water’s surface and the rolling eyes from Miss Hottie, everything was quiet and less awkward here. For a moment at least, I could avoid the brutality of being a teenager.
These thoughts popped in my head last week when my boys looked forward to staying in motels and swimming in pools on our upcoming Branson trip. They wanted to know if the pool was indoor or outdoor, how big it was and when we were leaving. I felt the same way as a kid. I didn’t care if it was a roach motel as long as it had a swimming pool.
Much like I did back in the day, my kids love to swim. They can’t get enough of the chlorinated, eye-burning waters of a swimming pool. In my case, summer meant three things: fishing, baseball and swimming pools.
I’ve swam in lakes, streams and stock ponds and I’ve played in the waves off the coast of Texas, Mississippi and Florida. But swimming pools are different. They’re pre-made summer fun. They’re a place to congregate with pals, jump off your dad’s shoulders or hang onto the ladder while shyly whispering to your crush-of-the-moment.
The aforementioned pool was at Clinton’s Community Center and it’s where I learned to swim. Mom insisted my sister and I take lessons and I took to the water like a Navy SEAL. Faded prize ribbons from a sixth-grade swim meet still adorn my scrapbook.
Somewhere along the way, though, I lost my love for swimming and I rarely go anymore unless my kids coax me into the water or I accidentally fall out of a boat. Sadly, the swimming pool from my youth is a mere shell of its former self, as well.
Trees and bushes have overgrown the dilapidated chain-link fence and trash, leaves and other debris now inhabit the 10-foot hole that once served as cool refreshment on a hot summer day. It seems as though the pool gave up its spirit as its onceenamored guests grew up and discovered life outside her gin-clear waters.
The dark, melancholy feel of the pool’s current state of affairs belies the fact that a quarter-century ago, it was a happening place. But I’ve got the memories. Memories of boy talk, tossing waterlogged Nerf balls and fetching quarters from the deep end. Memories of private parties for the football team and cheerleaders and sneaking in after hours with your buddies. Memories of cannonballs, back flips and yes, untimely belly flops.
That old cement pond was a fine place to swim and beat the heat. But it was so much more.
Bobby Hill is the outdoors columnist for the Times and lives in Fayetteville.
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