Sr. Lifesaving

When I was about 14, I took my first lifesaving course - Jr. Lifesaving. It’s an odd certification that no longer exists. Did it mean that I could only safe junior lives? I’d been swimming since I was 4, my mother was a life guard and swimming teacher. I lived in the pool most Sundays when she was the guard at the Center City YWCA. The picture is on one such Sunday. That's skinny little me on the board, my mother in blue. When I was 14 I wanted to take my place, follow in her footsteps. So I took Jr. Lifesaving and I passed. It was no big deal.

Most of the work was in the pool and I ruled the pool. It was like a game. I’d go up to the drowning person, which in every case was one of the instructors pretending to be drowning, wait until they were docile or pretending to be docile, dive under water, come up behind them, get them in a chin lock position, reach around for a cross chest carry, position them against my hip and side stroke them to the end of the pool. Not bad for a 14 year old. I think I was about the best student in the class.

When I was 16 I was old enough to take Sr. Lifesaving. This was harder. It required study – book study. I had to read crap. I had homework from “real school” to contend with and now I had scintillating early 70’s Red Cross prose to hack through? It made no sense. Oh the pool stuff was mostly more of the same, with a few added skills thrown in. But the other people in the class weren’t 16 like me. They were old – in their 20’s and 30’s – ancient. They drove to class, in their own cars! They owned shavers. I didn’t even need one.

I passed the pool part. I didn’t ace it, but I passed it. But I failed the written exam. I wasn’t used to flunking. I was an honor roll student in real school, but apparently not in “pool school.” I was somewhat accustomed to the patronizing attention from the instructor, a crusty older white guy who also happened to be my mom’s boss. He would look at me, this bone skinny black kid, and smile like he knew I would fail. I was never sure if I could trust his smile.

At this point other teenagers might have given up. After all, there were other things to do in life. There were hobbies, friends, a social life, TV, sleeping. I really liked TV – I really liked sleeping. Why do I need to be the youngest person to achieve an adult accomplishment? Why should I push against the system? Who needs that hassle? I did.

A few months later I took Sr. Lifesaving again. On the first day of class the same instructor had us write on a piece of paper why we wanted to take Sr. Lifesaving. I can still see him laughing as he read my paper to the class. “Because I failed it the first time. Ha – ha – ha!” I didn’t care. I could deal with patronizing. I could deal with being underestimated. I was an American black teenager in the 70’s. Most people outside my family underestimated me. I came to expect it - even leverage it. I could deal with it. I could deal with anything, I thought. And then I met the assistant instructor.

It’s not that she was stunning in a bathing suit. She was pretty enough - tall and slender. It’s more how she wore her bathing suit. Once I noticed a certain physical attribute of hers in her bathing suit, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I don’t ever ever ever remember seeing this type of thing before. I must have been blind since birth. Miracle workers from Wills Eye Hospital must have come in the night and installed working retinas and lenses. I must have passed Jr. Lifesaving with the help of a seeing-eye dog. Those are the only possible explanations for me never before noticing how long blond hair could play peek-a-boo from the bottom crotch-edge of a woman’s bathing suit.

I didn’t just stare – I was a frozen drooling mess. The hairs held my attention way more than the water. “OK, this is what we’re going to do today class. Are you listening?” “Uba yuba yabba thuba,” which in 16 year old male means, “Nope.” They just laid there, the hairs, and stared back at me. They were arresting. Oh there were times I tried to be cool. Yeah I’m just staring down at the pool deck tiles. Why am I always looking down? I’m just shy - shy and REALLY fascinated and desperately trying not to look.

Eventually, they did more than just stare back at me. They spoke to me. They became a blond pubic chorus, speaking as one. “You can do it.” “Read the chapters.” Yes, whatever you say. “And remember to clear the airway before administering resuscitation.” Yes of course. “You missed that on the last exam.”  Right.

One could say that having taken Sr. Lifesaving before, I knew what to expect the second time around, both in terms of pool skills and the written exam. One could also say that just the extra opportunity to study for the exam was all I needed to pass. Or one could say that I had been motivated since I was 4 to attain the same level of pool supremacy as my mother. One could say all those things. But I was 16 and I know God spoke to me in the form of a chorus. A chorus of blond peek-a-boo pubic hair from the bottom crotch-edge of a woman’s bathing suit.  God is good… and I passed.