How I Learned To Drown Without Swimming

It is summertime now, and one of my friends wanted to go to the lake in order to swim. She was surprised to hear that I do not know how to swim. She figured it was a skill everyone simply picks up along the way. No, I told her, I cannot swim. I can float. I can sort of dog paddle. However I will never be confused with Michael Phelps, because I cannot coordinate my body to perform the proper physical functions actually involved in swimming.

I attempted to learn once. My mother signed me up for lessons at Pecan Park which was located a stone’s throw from my house. Although the lessons were free, my father did not think the price was right, since he would be the one to take me. I was seven or eight years old at the time. I was old enough to walk the two or three blocks to the park, however, I was not trusted to go by myself because the park was a den of drug dealing – which meant my dad would have to go and sit by the edge of the pool, while the lifeguard went over the curriculum.

My father challenged the wisdom of the curriculum, because after three lessons, all we knew how to do was float in place. We had not even been to the edge of the deep side yet. He had been barred from drinking at poolside, so my father thought he would outwit the lifeguard by already being drunk before the lesson began.

So one hot July day, while at Lincoln Park, my father decided to put my skills to the challenge. His friends were asking me how life outside of school was going. I told them that I was learning how to swim. They thought I should have been born with that skill already. My father decided to show them the curriculum. He grabbed me from one of the belt loops in my pants and threw me into the lake. The sudden rush of panic was the first thing to hit my face. The second thing I realized was that I was head over heels. I fought to find my center. I knew I had to get my feet on the ground, but it was so hard to remember past lessons, when they never included any mention of water going through your nose and into your lungs.

The water burned my eyes, because all kinds of things were floating in it. I remember it was so dark, I could not see past my hands, but I eventually found my balance. I was able to plant my feet on the ground and emerge from the lake which resembled more of a swamp. I found a towel, although it was somewhat pointless since I did not have an extra pair of clothes to slip into. I shivered as the afternoon turned into evening, wrapped around the towel.

It was a silent car ride home, but I stopped to ask my father why he did what he did. He waited about two street lights in order to give me an answer. He just wanted to see if I could sink or swim. He turned to me and put his hand around my shoulder and told me, “I’m proud of you because you did not sink – otherwise it would have made for a very uncomfortable conversation with your mother. Now, who wants a Happy Meal? You do? Well, then you are going to have to tell your mother that you fell in.”

I cannot remember another moment where I was as close to my father as that evening. I never went back to learn how to swim. I figured I would do well as a land dwelling mammal. I was just glad that I never asked my father for piloting lessons.

Follow Oscar Barajas on Twitter @Oscarcoatl.

[Photo By Aimanness Photography]