A Small Fish.
As a general non-swimmer, I’ve come to accept that water sports make me nervous. Snorkeling? Only with a life preserver within five feet of the boat. Tubing? Only in two-foot rapids where I am guaranteed to stand. Surfing? No way, Jose! And it’s not that I can’t swim – I always made it to at least the second or third level swim class at summer camp. But the weeks and months leading up to the exam (usually two to four laps of varying strokes in less than pleasant June temperatures – in the Catskills) were filled with dread, tears, and incessant feedback on my latest practice drills at the local YMCA pool. (Mom/Dad, did I do it right that time?) When the appropriate age rolled around for womanly excuses, I milked it for all it’s worth. And when I elevated to counselor status (ages 17 to 23), I simply refused to (ever) get in the water in the most socially acceptable way:..a decade that couldn’t come soon enough Enjoy!
[Blog Reminder: Click on Subtitle Above for Article.]
No comments:
Post a Comment