| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 19, 2020 | Chapters: |
...3 4 -5- 6... 
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I go to camp not knowing how to swim.
A chapter in the book Viewing the World With Fresh Eyes
Swimming Lesson
by BethShelby
I was an only child, and at fourteen, I’d led a very sheltered life. Most of my pleas to be allowed to do things my friends took for granted, fell on deaf ears. Sleepovers with friends were rare, and being away from home more than overnight was unheard of. We had no TV, as they were not yet popular in small towns in Mississippi. My family didn’t even own a phone.
It was summer, and I had another three months, during which my entertainment would likely consist of a weekly trip to the library. No other young people lived near enough to come over for a few hours of socializing, so I spent my time living vicariously through books.
My best friend, Helen, was going away to camp for a week, and she invited me and two other friends to attend with her. The other two had already gotten permission, but I was still in the process of trying to break down my parents' resolve. Mom felt sorry for me, and pleaded my case with Dad.
“She's going to grow up, whether we like it or not. We can’t keep her with us forever. It’s a Christian camp. We should let her go,” Mom told him.
Miracle of Miracles, permission was granted, but with a list of stipulations a mile long. The camp brochure listed things that every child should bring, and one of them was a bathing suit.
“No, absolutely not!” my father said . “She’s not getting in no water. She doesn’t know how to swim. She’ll drown. They probably won’t have anyone watching those kids. If she takes a bathing suit, she be tempted to get in the water. I won’t have it.”
“I won’t get in deep water,” I pleaded. “I promise, I’ll stay in the shallow end. I won’t go out past my waist.”
The answer remained a resounding “NO!" I didn’t push it further, lest it meant not going at all.
And so it was that I was the only kid at camp with no bathing suit. But that didn’t mean when all the kids trudged down to the lake, that I didn’t go with them, wearing shorts, shirt, and sandals.
The lake was large and took up nearly an acre. Its depth near the middle was over twenty feet. Most of the kids would stay near the shore. Only the excellent swimmers ventured into the deeper water.
Another girl, named Anita, chose not to get in the water, because she didn’t want to get her long blonde hair wet. Since she didn’t know how to swim either, she suggested that we sit in a boat docked by the edge of the lake. It seemed safe enough to me, so I climbed into it.
The kids in the water were having a great time, and I was so envious. Anita and I both lay back on boat cushions and closed our eyes. I’d almost fallen asleep, when Anita screamed, and I felt the movement of the boat. I opened my eyes to realize we were surrounded by six of the older teenage boys, and they were busy towing our boat into deep water. The more we protested, the more the laughing guys teased us by rocking the boat. Water was coming over the sides, and we were in the middle of the lake.
The boat was already sinking, when the life guard noticed what was happening and blew his whistle. Somebody yelled, “Those girls can’t swim.”
As the boat went under and my body entered the water, I started dog-paddling furiously. Somehow, I was managing to stay afloat. Anita was choking, but I was actually swimming. Not too gracefully, but nevertheless swimming, shoes and all. Someone managed to get some inner-tubes out to us, and we were dragged to shore.
I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of pride at my progress during my first swimming lesson, but my instincts warned me, that perhaps I should keep this incident to myself when I returned home.
True Story Contest contest entry
I was an only child, and at fourteen, I’d led a very sheltered life. Most of my pleas to be allowed to do things my friends took for granted, fell on deaf ears. Sleepovers with friends were rare, and being away from home more than overnight was unheard of. We had no TV, as they were not yet popular in small towns in Mississippi. My family didn’t even own a phone.
It was summer, and I had another three months, during which my entertainment would likely consist of a weekly trip to the library. No other young people lived near enough to come over for a few hours of socializing, so I spent my time living vicariously through books.
My best friend, Helen, was going away to camp for a week, and she invited me and two other friends to attend with her. The other two had already gotten permission, but I was still in the process of trying to break down my parents' resolve. Mom felt sorry for me, and pleaded my case with Dad.
“She's going to grow up, whether we like it or not. We can’t keep her with us forever. It’s a Christian camp. We should let her go,” Mom told him.
Miracle of Miracles, permission was granted, but with a list of stipulations a mile long. The camp brochure listed things that every child should bring, and one of them was a bathing suit.
“No, absolutely not!” my father said . “She’s not getting in no water. She doesn’t know how to swim. She’ll drown. They probably won’t have anyone watching those kids. If she takes a bathing suit, she be tempted to get in the water. I won’t have it.”
“I won’t get in deep water,” I pleaded. “I promise, I’ll stay in the shallow end. I won’t go out past my waist.”
The answer remained a resounding “NO!" I didn’t push it further, lest it meant not going at all.
And so it was that I was the only kid at camp with no bathing suit. But that didn’t mean when all the kids trudged down to the lake, that I didn’t go with them, wearing shorts, shirt, and sandals.
The lake was large and took up nearly an acre. Its depth near the middle was over twenty feet. Most of the kids would stay near the shore. Only the excellent swimmers ventured into the deeper water.
Another girl, named Anita, chose not to get in the water, because she didn’t want to get her long blonde hair wet. Since she didn’t know how to swim either, she suggested that we sit in a boat docked by the edge of the lake. It seemed safe enough to me, so I climbed into it.
The kids in the water were having a great time, and I was so envious. Anita and I both lay back on boat cushions and closed our eyes. I’d almost fallen asleep, when Anita screamed, and I felt the movement of the boat. I opened my eyes to realize we were surrounded by six of the older teenage boys, and they were busy towing our boat into deep water. The more we protested, the more the laughing guys teased us by rocking the boat. Water was coming over the sides, and we were in the middle of the lake.
The boat was already sinking, when the life guard noticed what was happening and blew his whistle. Somebody yelled, “Those girls can’t swim.”
As the boat went under and my body entered the water, I started dog-paddling furiously. Somehow, I was managing to stay afloat. Anita was choking, but I was actually swimming. Not too gracefully, but nevertheless swimming, shoes and all. Someone managed to get some inner-tubes out to us, and we were dragged to shore.
I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of pride at my progress during my first swimming lesson, but my instincts warned me, that perhaps I should keep this incident to myself when I returned home.
It was summer, and I had another three months, during which my entertainment would likely consist of a weekly trip to the library. No other young people lived near enough to come over for a few hours of socializing, so I spent my time living vicariously through books.
My best friend, Helen, was going away to camp for a week, and she invited me and two other friends to attend with her. The other two had already gotten permission, but I was still in the process of trying to break down my parents' resolve. Mom felt sorry for me, and pleaded my case with Dad.
“She's going to grow up, whether we like it or not. We can’t keep her with us forever. It’s a Christian camp. We should let her go,” Mom told him.
Miracle of Miracles, permission was granted, but with a list of stipulations a mile long. The camp brochure listed things that every child should bring, and one of them was a bathing suit.
“No, absolutely not!” my father said . “She’s not getting in no water. She doesn’t know how to swim. She’ll drown. They probably won’t have anyone watching those kids. If she takes a bathing suit, she be tempted to get in the water. I won’t have it.”
“I won’t get in deep water,” I pleaded. “I promise, I’ll stay in the shallow end. I won’t go out past my waist.”
The answer remained a resounding “NO!" I didn’t push it further, lest it meant not going at all.
And so it was that I was the only kid at camp with no bathing suit. But that didn’t mean when all the kids trudged down to the lake, that I didn’t go with them, wearing shorts, shirt, and sandals.
The lake was large and took up nearly an acre. Its depth near the middle was over twenty feet. Most of the kids would stay near the shore. Only the excellent swimmers ventured into the deeper water.
Another girl, named Anita, chose not to get in the water, because she didn’t want to get her long blonde hair wet. Since she didn’t know how to swim either, she suggested that we sit in a boat docked by the edge of the lake. It seemed safe enough to me, so I climbed into it.
The kids in the water were having a great time, and I was so envious. Anita and I both lay back on boat cushions and closed our eyes. I’d almost fallen asleep, when Anita screamed, and I felt the movement of the boat. I opened my eyes to realize we were surrounded by six of the older teenage boys, and they were busy towing our boat into deep water. The more we protested, the more the laughing guys teased us by rocking the boat. Water was coming over the sides, and we were in the middle of the lake.
The boat was already sinking, when the life guard noticed what was happening and blew his whistle. Somebody yelled, “Those girls can’t swim.”
As the boat went under and my body entered the water, I started dog-paddling furiously. Somehow, I was managing to stay afloat. Anita was choking, but I was actually swimming. Not too gracefully, but nevertheless swimming, shoes and all. Someone managed to get some inner-tubes out to us, and we were dragged to shore.
I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of pride at my progress during my first swimming lesson, but my instincts warned me, that perhaps I should keep this incident to myself when I returned home.
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