H 2 NO
i have a few phobias. anyone who has known me for more than 10 minutes can likely vouch for that as they have had ample time by then to have witnessed my fantastic response to any one of the offending stimuli. one of my longest-lasting issues has been hydrophobia. i was not born with it, but i acquired it at a very young age and it persists to this day. the story that i have heard all my life from the people who were old enough to formulate and file memories at the time goes something like this:
it is early in the summer of 1978 (actually more like late spring, but the story seems like a summery event, so it is summer in this re-telling). my parents, their two lovely children and my mother's mother are on a long vacation, by car, through the southeast. the precious family of four plus a grandma stops for an evening at a campsite. (previously, i told this story with the stopping place identified as a motel, but having recently viewed photos of the vacation i have deduced that we must have been camping our way across the country.) while perusing the campsite for entertainment and probably food, the family (i am unsure of the specific members represented, at least little shelly and her daddy) comes upon a swimming pool. small shelly had no previous experience with such a thing (being just 2) but was immediately intrigued. this is the part of the story that strongly suggests to me that i was SUPPOSED to be a waterbaby, naturally compelled to swim and frolic in the water. without warning or permission, tiny shelly plunges into the pool (the deep end, even) and as may be expected, begins to sink rapidly to the bottom of the pool. super-daddy finds himself lurched toward action and reaches down to scoop the small pudgy blond baby from the cruel and unrelenting waters. i would love to say at this point that i have feared water ever since that moment, but unfortunately, i wasn't done exploring. as my mom tells it, i did exactly the same thing later on that same trip. once again daddy to the rescue. as a child i told the story with my father having to dive head-first fully dressed to retrieve me from the bottom of the pool, but by now i have no idea if that is true or if i just pictured it like that when i was 7. the trip culminated with a visit to my aunt and uncle's house in south carolina where i, contrary to all apparent attempts to avoid it, celebrated my third birthday. i have in fact feared water ever since the SECOND plunge. incidentally, i have never returned to south carolina or any part of the southeast with the exception of a layover in miami on my way to guatemala courtesy of american airlines. it is entirely possible that all of my phobias began on that trip. i still can't swim, i am fearful of the south in general and the southeast in particular, and i associate that region of the country with enormous insects- the only thing on the planet that frightens me more than water.
bless my father's heart he tried so hard to cure me. my childhood is filled with memories of standing on the edge of random swimming pools all over the country. my dad would spend hours standing in 3 feet of water with his arms poised as if he were overwhelmed by the power of the savior surging through him. "just jump, i'll catch you!" most of my memories are of long stand-offs at the edge of those pools. me with my knees shaking and jaw clenched, shivering as the water that i acquired while stepping slowly into the pool and slowwwly submerging myself up to my armpits. the neck and face are strictly off-limits (to this day) which is why jumping in is so terrifying. no matter how smooth the transition, water in some form will land on my face. maybe a splash, perhaps an accidental brief submersion. it will happen. but my father just waited. generally speaking, i eventually worked up the courage to take the leap, but the only way i truly felt the event was successful and my father was trustworthy was if he caught me in the air and i was fully secured before even touching the water. sometimes i would start to feel a little more confident (for unknown reasons, most likely because my brother was not around) and i would agree to try to jump into the water toward a large floating beach ball. the idea was that i was supposed to time and aim my leap just right so that my upper body came down on top of the ball and i was supposed to be coordinated enough to latch on and use the ball as a flotation device. which, by the way, the ball itself explicitly says NOT to do. this was never a good idea and each time the result was the same. chlorine throat.
my father's commitment to my swimming success persisted even if i increasingly lost interest with each terrifying plunge. by the time i reached the age of 14, his loving, trust-building, promise-to-catch-you ploy had mutated into thinly-veiled threats and a special kind of how-can-you-humiliate-your-father-in-front-of-all-of-these-people shame. at a hotel pool in maui, my father offered another in the life-long series of swimming lessons. he was wearing street clothes, mom and mike were away in the rental car, i was sunning in my neon green and black bikini. (it was 1989) my dad threw the hotel key into 9 feet of water and kindly informed me that unless i dove down to get it, we weren't going back to our room. it was mid-afternoon. there was a sizable audience. i hated him for putting my inability to save my own life in 4 feet of water on display. i hated him more for acting as though the whole situation was embarrassing to him. this whole scenario seemed entirely unnecessary to me. submerging the key served no vital purpose. he was just trying to help me in one of those fatherly ways that i hope never makes sense to me. it was a stupid, mean game and he knew it. and he had the audacity to demonstrate shame. of me! for a good long time i just pouted and slumped in my lounger, waiting until i knew he felt very bad about his behavior and was certainly regretting the impulsive action. that was the image i was trying to project and it was mostly true. but i was also trying to muster up the courage to jump into the beastly body of water to retrieve the damn room key. i could see it on the bottom of the pool. mocking me. shimmery reflections contorted the image, but i could see that it was there. and it wasn't going anywhere of it's own volition. not only did i have to retrieve the damn thing, but my goal was to make the jump appear as natural and spontaneous as possible. i was desperate to retain some level of dignity. but since flat-out refusing to get it wasn't an option as the look on my father's face strongly indicated that he and i would never speak again and i might be checking the classified for an apartment when we got home if i didn't satisfy his profound need for me to be normal. eventually i did jump in. kind of. i plopped in and then tried to figure out how to manufacture the necessary force to propel myself toward the bottom of the pool. there was no answer to this question. i got out, casually, and then i jumped in, keeping my back to the majority of the strangers so they couldn't see that i was plugging my nose. the only thing that scares me more than water getting in my nose is the dreadful thought of a bug doing the same. not plugging was not an option, but my dad's embarrassment of a teenage daughter who can't swim was contagious and i wanted so passionately to look normal. once in the water, i quickly recalled just how not normal it is for me to be in this predicament. i reached the bottom of the pool and reached around frantically. (for those who are swimmers, it may not have occurred to you that we non-swimmers have never even considered opening our eyes under water. water touching our eyelids is terrifying enough!) it seemed like i was searching for that key forever when my lungs demanded oxygen. i bobbed up to the surface and deliriously paddled toward the edge of the pool. doing this a second time was tantamount to eating one's own vomit, but i glanced at my dad and knew that simply trying was not enough. i dreadfully pressed on in my unwelcomed task. i jumped in again, flapped around again, reaching for the invisible lost in the unknown with the hand that wasn't protecting my nostrils and, ultimately, my lungs from the chlorinated monster that is pool water. when i finally found the key, i was experiencing what i was sure was the beginning stages of accidental self-induced suffocation by imposed nasal restriction and fell into a straight up panic. i HAD to get to the surface of the water NOW and i could be dead if i waited for my natural (but unproven) buoyancy to draw me upward. so i pushed off as hard as i could from the bottom of the pool and rocketed through the water creating quite a bit of resistance against my head, my shoulders and my bikini top. my head burst forth from the waters as though this was a re-baptism in the river jordan. i was free to breathe, to rub the water droplets from my eyes and see the sun again. i had survived this awful ordeal and i was going to be able to get back into my hotel room. i emerged as a person who has plunged into waters deep and lived to tell the story. and my bikini top was around my waist. and the crowd had not dissipated. the first image i experienced was that of two twenty-something men who, despite their compassionate efforts to disguise the fact, had definitely just witnessed what had happened to me. they weren't the only ones, but the last thing i was going to do was look around and make eye contact with the rest. i don't recall a time that i felt a deeper desire to melt away from existence. and now it was me who was considering issuing an embargo on communication between myself and the man who dared call himself my father.
it is early in the summer of 1978 (actually more like late spring, but the story seems like a summery event, so it is summer in this re-telling). my parents, their two lovely children and my mother's mother are on a long vacation, by car, through the southeast. the precious family of four plus a grandma stops for an evening at a campsite. (previously, i told this story with the stopping place identified as a motel, but having recently viewed photos of the vacation i have deduced that we must have been camping our way across the country.) while perusing the campsite for entertainment and probably food, the family (i am unsure of the specific members represented, at least little shelly and her daddy) comes upon a swimming pool. small shelly had no previous experience with such a thing (being just 2) but was immediately intrigued. this is the part of the story that strongly suggests to me that i was SUPPOSED to be a waterbaby, naturally compelled to swim and frolic in the water. without warning or permission, tiny shelly plunges into the pool (the deep end, even) and as may be expected, begins to sink rapidly to the bottom of the pool. super-daddy finds himself lurched toward action and reaches down to scoop the small pudgy blond baby from the cruel and unrelenting waters. i would love to say at this point that i have feared water ever since that moment, but unfortunately, i wasn't done exploring. as my mom tells it, i did exactly the same thing later on that same trip. once again daddy to the rescue. as a child i told the story with my father having to dive head-first fully dressed to retrieve me from the bottom of the pool, but by now i have no idea if that is true or if i just pictured it like that when i was 7. the trip culminated with a visit to my aunt and uncle's house in south carolina where i, contrary to all apparent attempts to avoid it, celebrated my third birthday. i have in fact feared water ever since the SECOND plunge. incidentally, i have never returned to south carolina or any part of the southeast with the exception of a layover in miami on my way to guatemala courtesy of american airlines. it is entirely possible that all of my phobias began on that trip. i still can't swim, i am fearful of the south in general and the southeast in particular, and i associate that region of the country with enormous insects- the only thing on the planet that frightens me more than water.
bless my father's heart he tried so hard to cure me. my childhood is filled with memories of standing on the edge of random swimming pools all over the country. my dad would spend hours standing in 3 feet of water with his arms poised as if he were overwhelmed by the power of the savior surging through him. "just jump, i'll catch you!" most of my memories are of long stand-offs at the edge of those pools. me with my knees shaking and jaw clenched, shivering as the water that i acquired while stepping slowly into the pool and slowwwly submerging myself up to my armpits. the neck and face are strictly off-limits (to this day) which is why jumping in is so terrifying. no matter how smooth the transition, water in some form will land on my face. maybe a splash, perhaps an accidental brief submersion. it will happen. but my father just waited. generally speaking, i eventually worked up the courage to take the leap, but the only way i truly felt the event was successful and my father was trustworthy was if he caught me in the air and i was fully secured before even touching the water. sometimes i would start to feel a little more confident (for unknown reasons, most likely because my brother was not around) and i would agree to try to jump into the water toward a large floating beach ball. the idea was that i was supposed to time and aim my leap just right so that my upper body came down on top of the ball and i was supposed to be coordinated enough to latch on and use the ball as a flotation device. which, by the way, the ball itself explicitly says NOT to do. this was never a good idea and each time the result was the same. chlorine throat.
my father's commitment to my swimming success persisted even if i increasingly lost interest with each terrifying plunge. by the time i reached the age of 14, his loving, trust-building, promise-to-catch-you ploy had mutated into thinly-veiled threats and a special kind of how-can-you-humiliate-your-father-in-front-of-all-of-these-people shame. at a hotel pool in maui, my father offered another in the life-long series of swimming lessons. he was wearing street clothes, mom and mike were away in the rental car, i was sunning in my neon green and black bikini. (it was 1989) my dad threw the hotel key into 9 feet of water and kindly informed me that unless i dove down to get it, we weren't going back to our room. it was mid-afternoon. there was a sizable audience. i hated him for putting my inability to save my own life in 4 feet of water on display. i hated him more for acting as though the whole situation was embarrassing to him. this whole scenario seemed entirely unnecessary to me. submerging the key served no vital purpose. he was just trying to help me in one of those fatherly ways that i hope never makes sense to me. it was a stupid, mean game and he knew it. and he had the audacity to demonstrate shame. of me! for a good long time i just pouted and slumped in my lounger, waiting until i knew he felt very bad about his behavior and was certainly regretting the impulsive action. that was the image i was trying to project and it was mostly true. but i was also trying to muster up the courage to jump into the beastly body of water to retrieve the damn room key. i could see it on the bottom of the pool. mocking me. shimmery reflections contorted the image, but i could see that it was there. and it wasn't going anywhere of it's own volition. not only did i have to retrieve the damn thing, but my goal was to make the jump appear as natural and spontaneous as possible. i was desperate to retain some level of dignity. but since flat-out refusing to get it wasn't an option as the look on my father's face strongly indicated that he and i would never speak again and i might be checking the classified for an apartment when we got home if i didn't satisfy his profound need for me to be normal. eventually i did jump in. kind of. i plopped in and then tried to figure out how to manufacture the necessary force to propel myself toward the bottom of the pool. there was no answer to this question. i got out, casually, and then i jumped in, keeping my back to the majority of the strangers so they couldn't see that i was plugging my nose. the only thing that scares me more than water getting in my nose is the dreadful thought of a bug doing the same. not plugging was not an option, but my dad's embarrassment of a teenage daughter who can't swim was contagious and i wanted so passionately to look normal. once in the water, i quickly recalled just how not normal it is for me to be in this predicament. i reached the bottom of the pool and reached around frantically. (for those who are swimmers, it may not have occurred to you that we non-swimmers have never even considered opening our eyes under water. water touching our eyelids is terrifying enough!) it seemed like i was searching for that key forever when my lungs demanded oxygen. i bobbed up to the surface and deliriously paddled toward the edge of the pool. doing this a second time was tantamount to eating one's own vomit, but i glanced at my dad and knew that simply trying was not enough. i dreadfully pressed on in my unwelcomed task. i jumped in again, flapped around again, reaching for the invisible lost in the unknown with the hand that wasn't protecting my nostrils and, ultimately, my lungs from the chlorinated monster that is pool water. when i finally found the key, i was experiencing what i was sure was the beginning stages of accidental self-induced suffocation by imposed nasal restriction and fell into a straight up panic. i HAD to get to the surface of the water NOW and i could be dead if i waited for my natural (but unproven) buoyancy to draw me upward. so i pushed off as hard as i could from the bottom of the pool and rocketed through the water creating quite a bit of resistance against my head, my shoulders and my bikini top. my head burst forth from the waters as though this was a re-baptism in the river jordan. i was free to breathe, to rub the water droplets from my eyes and see the sun again. i had survived this awful ordeal and i was going to be able to get back into my hotel room. i emerged as a person who has plunged into waters deep and lived to tell the story. and my bikini top was around my waist. and the crowd had not dissipated. the first image i experienced was that of two twenty-something men who, despite their compassionate efforts to disguise the fact, had definitely just witnessed what had happened to me. they weren't the only ones, but the last thing i was going to do was look around and make eye contact with the rest. i don't recall a time that i felt a deeper desire to melt away from existence. and now it was me who was considering issuing an embargo on communication between myself and the man who dared call himself my father.
posted by shelly at 2/18/2006 07:29:00 AM
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