Bringing Back a Memory

When I was a kid -- maybe 9 or 10, my family used to take weekend day trips from White Plains to Atlantic Beach out on Long Island. A real schlep, but my folks had the ocean in their veins, a character trait that would soon be hard-wired in me as well. The place we went had a pool, and while I was apt to spend my time on the beach, one weekend we found ourselves at the pool with the intent of swimming laps. I was not a swimmer, but my sister, Susan, was. She was a wonderful swimmer having done some time swimming competitively. A natural. Baseball was more my thing. Susan took to the pool and effortlessly did her laps. I got in and with some labor made it up and back several times, but I was clearly tiring. My father did not want me to quit. He kept urging me to do “just one more” and he walked alongside the pool as I swam cajoling, encouraging, and cheerleading to get me to finish 10 laps. I was getting exhausted; my body felt like lead. I thought there was a distinct chance I would sink. Why I kept going, I really will never know. But, I do know I will never forget that moment in my life. When I amazingly finished my 10 laps, I fell like a wet noodle into my father’s arms who gave me a big hug and then bought me a toasted bagel. Nothing ever tasted so good.

We flash forward a half century. I have been swimming laps of late, but I always have alternated the crawl with the breast stroke, mostly so I would have the lasting power to swim about an hour. But, part of me felt that I was in some way “cheating” in not swimming the crawl for all, not just half, my laps. This morning, alone in the pool, I set out to do only the crawl hoping to go as long as I could, but clearly understanding that I might not have the stamina to do very much.

The laps floated by. After the first few, I was in a zone, a rhythm. Some might have called it a kind of zen-like state of mind. It was wonderful. I just kept rolling. I swam fifty laps and by the time I had gone maybe 20 my mind was full of the memories of that day long ago bringing back, as best I could, the emotions and sensations of that day. It has been years since I've thought so much of my father, but, in a way, he was there this morning.

This one’s for you, Dad.