My childhood in the South didn't include “the talk” about being pulled over, but instead about being pulled under.
Hot summer days made swimming a necessity, and by swimming, I mean getting in the water. There were bodies of cool water just waiting. The moms would plan it so that we always went in groups with our friends. Coming out of our clothes and putting on swimsuits and shorts for the ride to the water, windows down, no seatbelts, vinyl seats stinging the backs of our legs. All part of a beautiful ritual.
We’d arrive to see kids and adults all enjoying the water, some swimming farther from the bank where there weren't as many people. That's where I wanted to go. Mom would line us up and begin The Talk. “You see out there,” she'd point, “there are giant suck holes under the water. If you go out too far, they'll suck you under and you'll drown. We won't be able to get you out.” She'd establish an imaginary line that we could not cross, and a buddy system. None of us knew how to swim, so that line was only a few feet from the bank or shore.
Our fun was always laced with fear. I think this is especially true for my community, the Black community, as a means to "keep us in our place" since the Jim Crow era. The jury is still out on its effectiveness.
The fear I was given matured into a fear of any water that came above my head. Seeing the drain at the deep end of the pool where I later learned to swim in my teens brought up this fear. I stayed in the shallows longer than was necessary, as long as I could.
But eventually I had to take the deep-water test. My five-foot frame had to hang out in ten feet of water, fueled by the greater fear of a failing grade. My deep-water practice always began and ended with me on the opposite side of the pool from the drain. I avoided that side of the pool to increase my chances of survival should it suddenly open up and begin sucking folks under.
Eventually, my understanding matured, and the fear seemed to diminish in the light of logic and reason. Really, it just morphed into a practice of extreme safety. Later, as a mother myself, regardless of the number of chaperones, I was the momma bear who went on the school camping trips. Nature was unpredictable and unforgiving. I couldn't risk my children encountering anything that put them in harm's way.
Curiosity Calls
The fear soon gave way to a greater curiosity. I don't recall when I first saw images of the Great Barrier Reef, but I knew I had to see it. I could see myself with other scuba divers, swimming in what looked like paradise. The thought of never getting to do that because the water was too deep started to chip away at the remaining fear. If I was going to deal with this fear, what better place than there?
About a decade later, as God would have it, an opportunity landed in my lap for a trip to Australia with my sister Yvette and two of her friends. I was the elder of the group (in my early 30s) and scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef was, of course, one of the planned activities.
With the details of the trip came more opportunities to back out. Australia was the farthest I'd ever been from home. My nearsightedness meant that I would need contact lenses or prescription goggles if I planned to see anything beyond a few feet away. The thought of not going felt ungrateful, like asking for something and then refusing it when it's given. I opted for the contact lenses and prepared for the 23-hour flight.
By the time we left for Australia, my glasses, which I’d started wearing as a teenager, were still my go-to 80% of the time. I kept my contact lenses tucked away in my purse, safe and sound, waiting for the reef. I kept wearing my glasses until the day before the dive.
I'm still not sure why the optometrist didn't advise me to purchase a backup pair of contact lenses. After too many visits over the years, I can say that that was the only time that I've not had that sales pitch. So, I arrived in Australia with one pair of lenses.
We booked a hotel not far from Sydney Harbor with plans to attend a concert at the iconic Sydney Opera House and to climb the Sydney Harbor Bridge for the panoramic view before flying the next day from Sydney to the Whitsunday Islands for a few days off the Great Barrier Reef. I decided to wear my contact lenses to take it all in and to prepare for the dive. We couldn’t get concert tickets, and all bridge-climbing was canceled because of the high winds on the harbor that day, but there was still so much to see and take in and I was ready, with my camera and my contacts.
Miracle Ahead
Hindsight is 20/20. We had an early flight, so we decided on an early dinner at the hotel so that we could pack and get to bed at a decent hour. It wasn't until I was removing my contact lenses for the night that I realized I'd lost one. Had I been more familiar with wearing them, I would have noticed.
I announced my loss to my travel mates, and we all began looking around the hotel room. I called a halt to the search: "It's at the harbor!" I remembered the wind had blown something into my eye and I habitually rubbed it without even thinking about the contact lens. It had been hours, and I couldn’t even tell that it was gone. In hindsight, I could have continued the trip with one lens. But I had come all this way to see, so I prayed: Father, please lead me to where my contact lens is, and I started the 10-15 minute walk back to the harbor. My travel mates followed to provide extra sets of eyes and to humor me.
We walked back and forth along the harbor. The wind was high so the lens could be anywhere, including in the bay, but I knew I had to try. The sun was setting. We didn't have much time. We started at the farthest point and fanned out. No luck. We met up at our designated spot and started to walk back toward a large area adjacent to the shops, leading back to the hotel.
I paused as I approached a short curb leading to the exit, put my head back, and said another prayer. Still standing in that spot, I felt what I can best describe as an instinctive knowing to look down and there, where the curb met the walkway, I saw what looked like a wrinkled piece of cellophane about half the size of my thumbnail. I'd not seen a dried-up lens before but somehow knew that it was my lens. I picked it up and showed it to the rest of the crew and we headed back to the hotel. It wasn't until I put the lens in solution that it looked at all like a lens. I tried it on. It was mine.
What were the odds? I thanked God and took this as further encouragement to take the dive.
Only one of our party had experience scuba diving, but not enough to dive without a certified instructor. It would cost extra, but I was happy to have the extra security. We practiced in full gear in the pool to prepare. I still kept my eye on the drain.
The pool confirmed that I could breathe through my mouth and handle the scuba equipment, but it didn't prepare me for jumping into the sea from the back of a boat. I think our guide pegged me early. I was the last one to jump in as he waited near the buoy. The others jumped in and were waiting a few feet below. I jumped in and started to descend with the instructor down a rope attached to the buoy. I could see the others waiting. On all sides of us was what felt and looked like an abyss. I couldn’t have been more than two feet down when, for the first and only time since then, I started to hyperventilate.
The instructor took me back to the surface. He patiently told me to remove my regulator (mouthpiece) and breathe. I caught my breath, and he asked if I wanted to try again. I gave an emphatic yes. I knew I would miss the dive if I didn't pull it together. He reassured me that we'd go down a few more feet and then gradually descend more as we headed toward the reef about 30 feet below. I gave the thumbs up and down we went.
At some point, fear gave way to curiosity, awe, and wonder and the depths to mystery much like life--yin and yang, dark and light, good and evil. Fear is a natural response that can save or destroy. Having to breathe through my mouth, the regulator, the tank on my back, and the bubbles with every exhale all faded away. I was just there with the reef, with the beauty, with the contrast, where I wanted to be, and it was all good.
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