Growing up in the lake country of lower Michigan, there were countless lakes, rivers, and swamps.  In fact, it was truly a land of ten-thousand lakes with more water than land.  But because there were so many lakes, and because everyone either lived on a lake or no more than a few blocks from one, there were few backyard swimming pools.  In fact I don’t recall a single one.

So I knew nothing of pools.  I didn’t know the smell of chlorine or the way that light shimmers on the bottom.  I knew only of the warm, green water of the lakes – how boys would back their bravado by canoeing or swimming out to the middle of the lake and then diving to the bottom.   We would grab a huge lungful of air and then swim fiercely straight down with powerful arm over arm strokes, kicking like Johnny Weissmuller being chased by a crocodile.  The water would get darker and darker and then suddenly it would turn very cold.  You would feel the tickle of fine plants and then your fist would drive into the fine, icy black muck of the lake bottom.  Returning to the top with bursting lungs and a fist full of muck proved that you’d made it.  It was a long way to the bottom; only true warriors came back to the surface with muck.

•      •       •

When I was about fifteen, my mother enrolled me in the local “Teen Club” at St. William’s Catholic Church.   I was the first of her five children to enter the uncertain mine field of the teen-age years and she wanted all the back-up that she could get.

Teen Club was a chance for local boys and girls to meet and have fun together in a controlled (by the parents) environment.  There were dances, hayrides, museum trips and pool parties.  I’d never been to a pool party before but it was a chance to frolic with girls in swim suits so it sounded good to me.

Again, like I said, I’d never been in a pool before and had no idea how deep a pool was.  I’d never thought about it.  I could see that it sloped to deep water under the diving board and that the water became darker and more mysterious there.  The deep end was definitely where the glory was so foolishly, in the way of fifteen year-old boys, I decided to impress the girls by showing them that I could touch the bottom.

•     •      •

After first making sure that I had cornered the attention of the on-lookers, I dove off the diving board like Tarzan.  As soon as I hit the water I was headed for the bottom.  Swimming powerfully straight down, I kicked and stroked for the bottom like I was headed for the muck.

I had just hit the water so my eyes were still closed.  Out in the lakes the water is full of bugs and sticks and dirt and muck.  You learn to swim with your eyes partially closed, especially when you’re swimming fast.   

Suddenly my fingers touched something hard that wasn’t supposed to be there… then my elbow and then,  BAM!, my face hit the hardest thing it had ever hit. 

It was the bottom of  the pool.

Where did THAT come from?

There were stars.  I was completely confused and disoriented.  I opened my eyes and saw a faded swirl of red in the water.  It was coming from me.  It was coming from my nose and my forehead.  I was bleeding.  I was probably attracting sharks. 

When I surfaced, everyone was staring at me with concern.  Blood was gushing from my nose and from a huge patch of skin that I’d scraped off my forehead.

I was nerd personified.

There was good news and bad news.  The bad news was that the girls were not particularly impressed by a pathetic, bleeding fifteen year-old.  But the good news was that, hey, at least now I knew how deep a pool was.