The Swimming Lesson

I don't remember when my Father was promoted to Major, but I know it was while we lived on base at Fort Devens, and I know it happened before the end of summer 1955, because of the swimming class incident.

Periodically I would try to find ways to patch things up with my Father. The usual plan was to ask that he teach me something I knew he wanted me to know anyway. I knew he wanted me to be able to swim, so I asked him to teach me. Actually I didn't ask him directly, but I asked my Mother to pass the request along.

In August 1955 my parents told me to get in the car and my Father said, "We're going to teach you how to swim." He said it just like that. WE will teach you. Not somebody will teach you.

They drove me to a small lake nearby called Robbins Pond. We could have walked there in fifteen minutes. The lake was/is shaped roughly like a strawberry viewed on its side and about 1000 feet across the long way. At the big end of the strawberry there were facilities for swimmers, including a bathhouse, and a diving platform. I knew I was being screwed again when we drove up and I saw a couple dozen other boys within two or three years of my age.

I was taken into the bathhouse and changed into swimming trunks I didn't know I had. There had been some real planning behind this operation. Then I was taken out and handed over to Private so-and-so, who dutifully saluted my Father, who had made a point of being in uniform so the kid would know he was responsible for a Major's son. The Private didn't really seem to care, the salute was just a formality.

Ever since my Mother had held my head under the faucet back in Schofield Barracks (The Screaming) I had a fear of submersion. I was terrified of drowning. So the only way I could be motivated to put that fear aside and ask to be taught to swim was with the understanding that it would help me patch things up with my Father. If that wasn't going to happen, suddenly there was no motivation. All I had left was panic, with no reward for getting through it.

But my parents drove off and left me there, so it looked like there was no way out.

The instruction began with "getting us used to the water." Our instructor had all but one of the kids stand in shallow water up to the tops of their feet. Then the remaining boy crawled from behind through the others' legs and took a place at the front, and the boy that was last crawled through to the front, and so on. When everyone had crawled through, the whole line was moved to deeper water, so the water was now to everyone's knees.

I made it through those rounds by more or less "cheating." I wouldn't have called it that. I would have called it "not drowning." But the Private said it was cheating to hold my head out of the water the whole time. I was supposed to get my face in it. That was the point of the exercise. I thought he was supposed to help me with that, instead of just order me to do it, so i could find out I couldn't.

The third round he had everybody stand in waist deep water and front to back so in order to pass between all the legs it was necessary to stay under the entire way. I refused.

The Private ordered me to do it. I said no. I wasn't putting my head in the water. I could drown. Most of the other kids laughed at me, although a few tried to help by offering advice. "Pinch your nose." "Dunk your head quick the first time, then do it longer." The Private just got pissed. He probably was thinking, "Oh great, the one kid I can't teach and it has to be an arrogant Major's brat." He tried shouting at me.

One really great thing about having abusive parents is it really prepares you for abusive strangers. Some stranger starts screaming at you, and you think, what's this bonehead going to do to me my own parents haven't already done? I may have even laughed at the poor guy.

Finally he seemed to give up. The class continued without me. I sat it out on the beach thinking it was all over except for the ride home in disgrace.

Then the Private announced that it was time for the final exam of the day. This first of three or four classes was to end with a test of what we had learned, namely to confidently hold our heads under water for as long as we were told. I was made to line up with everyone else in waist deep water and he tested each of us one by one. When it was my turn he ordered me to put my head under. I refused. He ordered me again. I started to say no again, but as I was opening my mouth to say it, he grabbed my head and shoved me under. I took water in immediately because my mouth had been open.

I hadn't had a chance to take a breath. I struggled against him, but what could I do. I was six, he was a full grown man, and an athlete.

Just when i thought I couldn't hold my breath anymore, he raised my head up. As I gasped for breath he screamed something at me. Something like, "NOW YOU'RE GOING TO DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD!"

Then he shoved me back in, again as my mouth was open, trying to get air as fast as I could.

This time he held me down so long I couldn't hold my breath anymore. I released air and started swallowing water.

When he let me up the next time I twisted away from him and waded to the shore, where I fell on my knees and vomited up water.

That was the scene when my parents drove up. The Private couldn't have been in more trouble.

After that there was no more talk about me wanting to learn how to swim. I eventually overcame the phobia. I succeeded in holding my own head under water at age 21 and thereafter, without further assistance; thank everyone for all your patience.