"N-o-o-o-o-o-o!" I screamed, when I spotted my youngest child
standing on the bottom of the pool in water clearly over his head.
He stood in suspended animation, not moving a single muscle.
How long had he been there?
Every year as summer approaches, the news of children drowning in pools brings a chill to
my spine. It can happen in an instant. There are too many instances of this tragedy every year
and somehow, never as prevalent as it is here in Florida where we now live.
Picture taken on Cape Cod - jclark
In this climate pools are used for about nine months out of every year. Young families come to visit their grandparents and the horror of a lost child is spread across the headlines of the morning papers and broadcast on every television set. Each time I read or hear of these horrible accidents, I remember the summer of 1969.
Living on the Connecticut shore definitely had it's advantages. Each summer the Red-Cross offered lifesaving courses to the public at various places in our town. They gave them at various beaches and that particular year at the full-size Olympic pool at the local Holiday Inn as well.
I passed the lifesaving course as a teenager and maintained my certification for years. That particular summer I offered my services as an assistant and they readily offered me the position.
Each morning, mothers (and a few dads) paraded their young children along the sidewalk from their cars in the parking lot to the pool area. They carried everything from water pistols to watermelons! Did they plan to stay for the entire day?
I took my son too. Often he was right at my elbow or playing in a fenced-in area less than thirty feet away. Moms not busy with the class were always present. As the youngest of the "Indians" in our family, Curt loved playing with other young children and at the end of the class each day I played with him in the pool for about an hour.
The instructor was a tall, strong and handsome man with an athletic build; his temper was equally strong and unyielding. He was one of those typical "Mr. Atlas" types, but unfortunately he knew it and it adversely affected his could-have-been-neat personality! He was extremely strict with his students and frightened the children the way he barked at a student for an incorrect maneuver.
The previous morning we instructed the students to come wearing street-clothing over their bathing suits and both the instructor and I did also. It was a hot day and rather uncomfortable standing pool-side with slacks, long-sleeved shirt, sneakers and socks on. Today's lesson included jumping into the pool fully clothed, the way one might be if they were suddenly required to make their way to a "drowning" victim. "Mr. Atlas" played the victim and varied his flailing antics to represent different stages of the drowning process.
These maneuvers were taking place in the deep end of the pool, where other swimmers could see that they needed to keep their distance. Students took turns swimming to and grasping the instructor using arm-holds we had taught them. This was no easy feat; this man was strong! My duty during these procedures was to spot improper arm-holds by the students. I watched and wondered if any of these students would ever have to use this training.
My son, Curtis, was in the charge of a friend I knew from our church and was playing with her three boys. I arranged for his care because I knew how occupied I would be during this particular class.
It was time for the next student's test when I glanced toward the opposite end of the pool for my three- year-old son. Where was he? I became frantic! Then . . . through the water, I spotted his red T-shirt.
Every fiber of my muscles tensed. Screaming, I dove fully dressed into the pool still wearing my sneakers. I had about thirty feet to swim. Adrenaline raced through my veins and I raced like I had never raced before. I was unaware of my clothing's resistance until later.
Grabbing him under his arms, I yanked him out of the water ands he gasped for breath. Flipping his legs back, I laid him belly-down on the concrete deck. He began to sputter and cry. Water came gushing out of his mouth. I rubbed his back, repeatedly trying to reassure him and I thanked God that Curt had not lost consciousness. How long he had been underwater, I did not know.
My guilt gave way to anger when I remembered my friend who's charge Curtis had been under. Where was she? Curt was shaking, crying and asking to go home. I wanted nothing more than to snuggle him and tell him we would leave immediately. It was then that I was conscious of the people standing around - including the hotel lifeguard.
A woman stepped forward and began reprimanding my friend's youngest son."Why did you push him into the water" she scolded? The youngster began crying as his mother appeared from nowhere. She pulled her son into her arms saying, "Don't worry, Honey, that lady won't scold you anymore. I held my anger in check.
All that time I was still standing in the water consoling my son. Instinctively I knew I had to get him back into the water, so I picked him up and pulled him into the water holding him close to me. He fussed a bit about wanting to get out, but I persisted and we talked. Before very long, his tense little body began to relax as the yelling in the deep end of the pool distracted him. The lifesaving instructor was back on the job testing another student. Curt wanted to watch.
I took him and swam to the middle of the pool where he could see the action. The instructor flailed around making it quite difficult for the student to get a proper hold. Curt turned and said, "Mommy, I stood very still and waited for you to come." God was very good to us that day and I am forever grateful.
Little did I ever dream that I would be a demonstrator of life-saving techniques of a very different type that day. "Mr. Atlas" showed his warm and fatherly side when he came to me after the class and commended me for my speedy response. He said the students were stunned by the point driven home in their minds. I was happy to "see" this man's heart!
Thirty years later, you should see that "fish" in the water! Curt is a "few" pounds heavier and feet taller, but still loves to play dolphin with no lasting wounds from that earlier ordeal.
Curt married in 1993, after meeting a gal who attended the same high school he
did in Connecticut, but was four years younger and they had never met. Her mother
and my brother were "significant others." So, Curt's mother-in-law and uncle were . . .
well, you get the picture. (Harvey died 5/24/00) Curt & Kristin are the parents of our second adorable
grandchild - Quinlin Reed who was born November 1998. They live several miles away
so we get to see them quite often.
