Dec. 6, 2006, Altadena, California

By Brian Fire

The other day, while sitting out by my pool, I had one of those moments. My daughters, Harley, 2, and Kiara, 4, played on the first step in the pool. Both of them, having the best time in the whole universe, right up to the point where one of them reached the edge of that first step. Their amnesia vanished and they remembered their fear of the region beyond.

At that point I remembered a certain young man who had the same fear of water. As I continued to watch them I was taken back to a time when Bell-bottoms and tight pants were in style.

The ’70s! A time when all I had to do was get inside before the streetlights went out. Most of the school principals could paddle your bottom if you got in trouble and not get sued. It was all so simple then.

Our family was the new “kid” on the block. We were also the only ones on our street with a pool. I remember that I was the only kid in the city who couldn’t swim. The embarrassment it caused my old school father was outright unbearable. He told me once about the time when his father threw him in the lake, and that’s how he learned to swim. Every time he got close to me while in the pool, I remembered his story and would exit promptly.

It was a battle that went on between him and me for almost a whole year. He would try and sneak into the pool so he could have his swimming lesson with me and I would find a clever way to make an exit. I believe some of my excuses have become local legend. They were brilliant. My mother was brilliant, too; her role in this whole fiasco was referee. When things got too hot she would tell my dad it was time to “cooler down.”

One day, while the family was in the middle of a big barbecue, my Grandmother caught a glimpse of my dad and me doing our little show. This time I flew out of the pool like a hoist was granting me flight. My father, fully frustrated, yelled at me at the top of his pipes.

The whole thing really disturbed my grandmother. Little did I know she had a plan. She waited till things simmered down and sat me on her knee. My grandmother was the coolest person on the planet. She was always so well-informed about things. If you needed help she always knew just where and how to research a topic and help you. This particular day, she introduced me to the Encyclopedia. I fell in love with this heavy book. It was chalk full of information and great pictures. It actually changed my life and the way I saw life. She told me that just about anything I wanted to learn could be found in the Encyclopedia … even swimming.

It was a full month before I got the courage to take the Encyclopedia and sit out by the pool. My plan was simple: Read the instructions and look at the pictures until I felt ready to act. For some reason I thought it would be some major “snap” and then it would hit me and I would be transformed into an Olympian swimmer. None of that happened.

After about a solid hour of reading the instruction on “How to float,” it seemed easier and easier to accomplish. I set the heavy book down and was floating in the next 10 minutes. As long as I read and applied logic, my fears were kept in check. The “Breast Stroke” followed, then “Dog Paddling.” I was having the time of my life, teaching myself how to swim.

The whole self- tutorial lasted about four hours. At the end of it, I was swimming and using proper technique. I felt so good, so confident. I was beaming with pride all afternoon … and all night.

Day after day of successful practice, I stretched out under the California sun, thinking to myself. I wasn’t going to tell anyone I had taught myself until the time was right.

The right time came about a month later. By then, I had also taught myself to dive. All the neighborhood kids were in our pool. My dad had also come out and was waiting to see what I was going to do. Life can be so fun when you know you are holding a winning card in your deck.

I told my dad I was going to dive in. He looked at me, his expression said, “Yeah right.” When I got up on the diving board, it was as if time had stopped. Everyone was watching me. My sister yelled to my mother, “Brian is on the diving board!”

I cut through my Matrix-like moment and executed a perfect “Jack knife.” Everyone gasped. I swam from one end of the pool to the other with ease, right next to my father. He snatched me up and gave me a bear hug. He was so proud of me. I can still see his expression to this day. It’s the same one I don when my children do things that impress me. It’s an awesome feeling. So empowering.

The moment I opened the Encyclopedia, everything seemed so easy. If I could read about it, I could learn it. It became the tool I would use with everything I approached in life. Well, with those things that did apply. It surely made me fall in love with reading.

I’ll never forget the day my Grandmother sat me on her knee.

A few hard splashes From Harley and I was snapped back into the present. My daughters were calling out to me to get in the pool with them. I smiled, gushing with love and pride. My wife came out and wanted to take pictures. We were all in our own little paradise. The whole thing reminded me of when I had the pool to myself as a child, armed with the Encyclopedia.

I took a moment to run in the house and I came out with a heavy book. The very same book from the collection passed down from my parents. My girls and I then sat there and shared a moment: their introduction to the Encyclopedia. My wife captured it on the digital camera.

On the back of the picture, I wrote in black marker, “The Moments.” That shot sits on my desk where I can see it at all times. I am so proud of them. Their exploits in life will no doubt surpass mine.

It’s just the way it should be.

Brian Fire, a freelance graphic designer, copywriter, and father, is currently writing and doctoring screenplays.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Monday, January 29th, 2007 | Email This Post

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