The Pool

         My earliest memory is swimming all day at the pool with my father. I remember that we had gotten up early, it was a Saturday, and it was my fourth birthday. That was a time when I defined magic in terms of the world I could see. The magnolia tree growing behind our house would sprout white blooms all by itself, and it was amazing. Our neighbor had a huge turtle that had it's own house in the backyard – something I was fascinated with and spent many hours straining my eyes to see if the turtle was out and about. But the most amazing experiences, the most magical moments, were spent at the pool. Colonial Club, it was a private pool, the pool where my parents met, and the pool that I would spend my childhood summers without realizing how pretentious it sounded. Really, it wasn't, it just sounds that way. Our family had a long-standing relationship with the owners of Colonial Club, my parents having grown up with them.

         The drive was short, but when you are four years old and anticipating spending the entire day lazily swirling around in cool water with your favorite person and loads of "pool friends," it might has well have been an overseas flight. I was wearing a white sunsuit that had purple flowers on it. The ties that sat on top of my shoulders and the ruffles around the short cuffs made it my favorite summer attire. When spending a day at the pool, it was an easy over the suit outfit that would dry quickly if it got wet. I can still hear the flopping of my pink sandals on the concrete and smell the chlorine that stung my eyes. Once we finally reached the pool, it was always a race to see where we would park our towels and other stuff we had brought along. Invariably, Dad and I would land our home base near the six-foot end of the Olympic sized pool, and it was always on the grassy side of the pool, not the hard concrete side. Once the spot had been settled, we would anticipate the lifeguards climbing into their giraffe-like chairs and the blowing of the first whistle, which signaled freedom to enter the still water.

         Dad and I, we're pool people, we just love water. Something so silly really, I always remember his love of the pool and the way mine matched and eventually surpassed it. If I had my way, I would have lived in the pool, and had my meals served in the shallow end. The worst summer days held a thunderstorm in the forecast because that fickle lightning kept me from my beloved water. The lifeguards were always teenagers or twenty-somethings that loved children and their jobs. They would sit up high in those chairs and blow their whistle when something didn't appear kosher. I don't remember which lifeguards were working that day, but I know that some of them would entertain me for the fifteen minutes each hour reserved for adults only in the pool, when they were supposed to be on break.

         After that initial whistle, inviting all swimmers into the water, a very important series of events began. Dad would dive into the deep end and I would quickly walk, as running was forbidden, alongside him and marvel at the distance he could swim under water. I remember him making it to the middle of the pool on one breath, something that I still hold a shred of pride over. He would pop up, smooth his curly hair back and smile a crooked smile at me and then tell me to meet him at the other end. The shallow end was where I spent most of my time, even though I knew how to swim, and swim well. He would always tell me to jump in, to get the initial shock of cold out of the way, but I never seemed to be able to do it. I slowly slunk down the ladder and dog paddled my way toward the lane he had positioned himself in and then it would begin. I'm sure everyone who has had a family member teach them to swim knows the experience I'm about to describe, but I beg of you, let it sink in and remember the frustration and secret determination you felt as you did this.

         "I'm not moving."

         "Yes, you are…stop moving Daddy!"

         He would be about six or seven feet in front of me and as I swam toward him, he would slowly back away from me. No matter how much I begged, he would always go a little farther than the time before, until eventually I was swimming to the middle of the pool unassisted. That day though, he let me swim only into the four foot deep section of the pool, far less than usual, and the he would let me swim into his arms and carried me back to the shallow end, or would take me into the deep water where we would turn somersaults underwater. Sometimes we would walk over to the diving tank, a smaller pool that was ten feet deep and had a regular diving board and a high-dive. Dad would climb up the ladder and go to the high dive, and after executing a perfect belly flop, would swim over to the water in front of the low dive where he would catch me as I bounced off of the board. Magic was looking into my father's eyes and knowing how happy we both were. The day passed and I don't think I could have imagined a better way to spend my birthday, swimming around with Dad.

         Early in the evening, it must have been around dinnertime, we packed up our pool items and walked slowly to Dad's car. I had become very tired and was ready to go home, though I would not have admitted it to anyone at the time. When we reached the house, a much quicker trip than that mornings trip had been, I noticed that there were a bunch of cars there, but it didn't occur to me that something out of the ordinary was about to happen. My skin, slightly reddened by the day's activities, was itchy and the ties on my sunsuit were beginning to rub uncomfortably; I was looking forward to Mom putting the green gel on my shoulders and face. My father carried me into the house and, much to my surprise, my entire family was staring at me yelling, "Surprise!" A whole party; just for me. I didn't know what to do. Dad set me down and I was passed around the room to hug all the relatives that had come to wish me a Happy Birthday. Then I was ready for my green gel.

         I walked to my mother and she took my hand and walked me back to my room. Now, for a little girl, living in the early 1980s, I had a cool room. I had pink shag carpet, not many people choose to admit to such a thing, but it was only part of the magical place that I spent my time. I had shelves of books, a big girl bed and enough stuffed animals and dollies to fill a storage unit. I was a very lucky child and blissfully ignorant that children lived in any other fashion. Mom had the aloe ready, and changed me out of my wet bathing suit and sunsuit and put me into a pink sundress. In case you're not getting it, there is this whole pink theme running through my memory. What can I say, I was a little girl, and pink was my favorite color. My Mom described the fun that was in store as she dressed me up and nursed my sunburn. My angel of a mother made sure that I was ready for my party and told me that there was a whole party waiting for me.

         The only thing I remember from the actual party is opening my favorite present, a Rainbow Bright beach towel. I still had that silly towel, ragged though it was, when I graduated high school. Very soon after opening that present, I fell asleep, tired from the day's activities. I have learned since then, that my Birthday was not the only party of the day. My parent's Anniversary was the same day and, since everyone was already assembled, they were having an Anniversary party later that evening. In fact, I woke up at my Aunt's house the next day, as was the custom for all of my Birthdays. No, I don't remember the fun of the party, or the trip to my Aunt and Uncles house, and I couldn't tell you what kind of cake we had, but I do remember that day; I will never forget that day. I’ll always remember swirling underwater with my Dad.