When I was six years old, on Saturday mornings, when other kids were watching cartoons and filling their mother's mixing bowl with Captain Crunch, I wore a Speedo and dove into the icy blue ocean at the YMCA. Granted, it wasn't really an ocean, but when you were six...the indoor pool at the Y, felt like the Atlantic. I would wake up late, force down a bowl of Grape Nuts (no sugar cereal allowed in our house), fake a stomach ache, and pray that just this once...my mom would buy it and I wouldn't have to walk the plank of death (aka; the low diving board). But, it never happened. Every Saturday morning for eight years was seen through the foggy lenses of my leaky, bright blue goggles. And in the ninth year...I joined the Mustang Swim Team and breaststroked my way to a varsity letter.
So...thanks mom, for turning on my light when I wanted to sleep in...for spending your Saturdays on the shaky, wet bleachers watching your anxiety filled daughter walk the plank of death. Thanks for wanting me to not have to be afraid...afraid like you were...and still are.
And now on Saturdays...I can sleep late and fill mixing bowls with sugar cereal. But, I usually don't. I'll let you know what I decide this week.
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