Family Gene Pool

It began as an inflatable idea that served our emerging family well for a few hot summers. Thus, our first pool was a 5-feet wide, 6-inches deep rubber “wader” set in our backyard within the coveted shade of the silver maple tree. On one occasion, my older brother’s friend courageously accepted a dare and jumped (actually belly flopped and without hurting himself!) into it fully clothed for 10 cents.

As the children grew, our birdbath-sized “pee-pool” (as dubbed by older kids) was replaced with a gargantuan circular wonder measuring eight-feet wide and two-feet deep. A wire frame supported the plastic blue liner that held its clear, cool, and alluring contents upon the backyard driveway. Filling it was a significant drain of my father’s water budget but it assured him that we would be under the watchful eye of our mother. Sure. Water naturally attracts people -- especially kids – and to rare volumes of water that is more than ankle deep not supplied by rain. So, neighborhood kids were frequent and welcomed users. One afternoon, as my parents hosted a cook-out for family friends, my father spotted my two-year old brother in trouble. Stretched and teetering on the pool’s edge, his head was submerged while attempting to grasp a floating object. With his characteristic cigarette secured between his lips, our dad bounded in two steps and pulled my brother from the brink of tragedy, albeit soaking wet. A dry towel quickly restored composures and the party. On occasion, our parents enjoyed the pool under the romantic cover of warm darkness for sipping Martinis. At times, it also served as an‘aquarium’ for live fish brought home from fishing trips.

As we grew into adolescence, the backyard pool became less attractive and eventually replaced by our desire for the expansive, concrete, sun-scorched, deep-water municipal pool -- complete with diving boards and scores of screaming kids. All users had to endure the humiliating toe-jam inspection prior to entering the pristine waters so as to ensure a hygienic experience for all. (There were likely more icky sources of human crud transferred into the water.) The frequent shrills of the lifeguards’ whistles signaled the correction of a pool participant’s behavior and the threat of eviction. Nasty sun burns were a rite of passage for “Sun Screen” was not yet heard of.

Because of daily responsibilities, most parents (including ours) could not accompany their kids to the pool. Instead, they conferred their duty of care to watchful teenage lifeguards. Not knowing how to swim, I began my self-teaching lessons by simply mimicking other kids as they held their breath, jumped in, madly flailed their appendages and eventually floated. My inspiration for improvement came from watching aquatic-themed TV shows such as See Hunt, Tarzan, and Esther Williams (Yes!). Soon I was mastering water-borne techniques and proudly overcoming my watery fears of diving boards, opening my eyes under water and getting water up my nose. Afternoons at the pool provided the chance to cavort with schoolmates and awkwardly observe the girls “out of uniform.” Due to older teenage interests, my brother and sister rarely patronized the pool. I relished the near-daily opportunity. By season’s end, the relentless exposure to the sun and the pool’s caustic chlorine had lightened my hair, tanned my hide and eroded my swim suit. But I emerged as a decent “teach yourself” swimmer!

Through the ensuing decades of hot and humid summer afternoons, I fondly recall the little rubber wading pool and long for the chance to take that daring plunge (for less than a dime)!