The first time I jumped off a diving board I was in swimming class, probably two or three years older already than most of the kids around me. The class teacher had gotten me to go up the stairs – how, I don’t know. My knees were knocking, and I felt quite weak and dizzy as I went up, but somehow I made it to the top. Standing out on the board and looking out over the pool, I couldn’t imagine jumping, let alone going upside down.
The teacher held up a long pole with a little hook on it and said I could grab it and use it as a support while I jumped. My young mind believed this for some reason, and I bent down and got into position to dive. Still absolutely scared, but somehow the sight of that pole kept me there. Then I heard the teacher count down – Three! Two! One! I stood still. Completely frozen. Someone said “Jump!” I looked at the huge pool under me and didn’t flinch. Someone then said “Try again.” And the count down began again. Three! Two! One! …
As I began to move through the air, the teacher yanked the pole away, and a sudden racing feeling shot through my body. It was too late to go back, and yet the fear ruined my form, and I ended up smacking the surface of the water with my back. I went under, and sunk almost to the bottom of the pool. Thoughts of drowning, which I knew nothing about, but could imagine – flooded my mind. And as it did, I saw the surface of the water coming closer and closer, despite anything in my head. Surfacing, I looked for the teacher, and said something about her taking the pole away, but it didn’t matter.
Was it cruel? Was it a good teaching? Maybe both? Whatever it was, nothing can take away that free fall. That letting go I was unable to escape experiencing.
Photo Credit
Diving Board @ Wikimedia
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