There is something odd that stirs in my blood when summer comes around. It’s a feeling of whim, of wanting, of nostalgia. The sun, the warmth, the tans and the smells of stones or concrete baking on a summer day will without fail bring about a longing for a swimming pool. It brings me right back to all those summers in Germany. How carefree they were. Growing up in the tiny town had so many advantages. All I needed in the summer was my bike, my bathing suit and my towel.
I would get up as early as possible to get to the pool and come home as late as I could. Long 12 hour days spent in sun and water. No parental supervision after we had passed our swim tests.I remember not even needing shoes or clothes. I’d get on my bike with bare feet and a bathing suit and pedal as fast as I could to get to the pool. If you were late that means your friends had already had hours of fun before you could get there. If you were the first one there you were guaranteed boredom until at least another friend arrived. It was all in the timing. I’d race my bike up the steep hill at the outskirts of town sure that I had missed all the fun and that everyone was packing up to leave.
I would feel the heat collecting in the asphalt on my way up the hill. The sun gathering in intensity on my back; my little legs pumping the pedals and my hands downshifting my bike to an easier gear. I must have been 8. My parents had no concerns about having to take me. There was one stop light in our town at that time, no rushing traffic and no helmets. I’d pass the brick factory on my way up the hill and smell of the mix of cement and see the waves of heat floating off of the factory and know that I was almost there. Then I’d sore down the last little hill to the pool and park my bike checking to see if any of my friends bikes were already there and parked. A quick scan would let me know what kind of a pool day it was going to be. There was good (meaning all my favorite people in the world would be there) or there was bad (meaning that I was the first to show up at that ungodly hour in the morning).
In the case of a good day, I would run in, find my friends and play time would start. Usually, in the morning there were only the “old ladies” doing their laps. These women would show up diligently every morning to swim with their heads as far out of the water as possible. Trying to keep their faces and perfectly quaffed hair dry, they made for an odd sight in the eyes of an eight year old. We couldn’t fathom the fact that there were people who did not want to soak their entire body in this glorious water. They always looked strained and never looked like they were truly enjoying themselves. They must have hated us and our games.
Our main game was taking a running leap off the end of the pool and trying to land in a “bomb” position as close to them as possible. Landing the perfect “bomb” was not easy. You had to gauge how fast your victim was swimming. Hitting them straight on would have been reason to get banned from the pool, where as landing far away decreased your chances of an optimal splash. Once you figured out where you were going to jump in you had to take a running start leap off the edge tuck your knees and arms in and land on your backside just so. A truly spectacular bomber could get more then one swimmer drenched at a time with this technique. Once in the water you would have to stay under and swim far enough away so that the victim couldn’t find you anymore in the crowd of people and wallop you on the side of the head. The trick was to make sure that the life guard wasn’t looking and to get them while they were coming towards you so that they got water in their face and while they were swimming back so that they got water on their hair. It took a great deal of planning, holding your breath, getting out of the pool and running with all your might it you wanted to get your victim coming and going.
After this game was exhausted we would get out of the pool and bake on the sun warmed stones that surrounded the swimming area. Lying flat out, sopping wet, the warms stones hugging us while we caught our breath. There were whole days where our towels would lay dry and unused on the fields behind the pool and would stay as only a marker of our territory. A flag, letting late arrivers know that you were there. We would slowly begin to dry out. The water running out of our chlorine greened hair in tiny rivulets blurring reality the heat coming off of the pavement, the sounds of people splashing, laughing, and talking all mingling together to form a summer coma.
If I was lucky one of my friends would have brought money for the candy store. If not we would spend many hours looking for soda cans and bottles in the trash at the pool which could be exchanged for money. 10 pfennig at the time could buy you one candy. 1 soda bottle equaled 10 pfennig. It became a game to see who could find the most bottles and trade them in for the most candy. With excitement we would all go on our way digging through the trashcans not caring about the disapproving stares that we received along the way or the mountains of flies that were having a feast. We’d collect our stash, stuff it into bags and carry them to the kiosk where every delight imaginable to a child was on display. Little green gummy frogs, licorice, sour strips, and my favorite coca-cola gummies. All of it covered to a degree with flies and us not caring. We’d grab our little paper bags of sugar and let it melt on our fingers and mouths into stickiness, then jump in the water and rinse off.
I don’t remember really seeing much of my parents at all during the summer. My siblings would pass me with their own cluster of friends at the pool. We might exchange money for candy or try to beg food off each other but for the most part we traveled in separate worlds. There were no worries about too much sugar intake, sunscreen, helmets or being in a world for adults as a child without an adult. It was a given in our innocent brains that nothing would happen to us, the world could do us no harm and we were right in that belief. We owned that pool all summer long. We were its permanent if sometimes unwelcome fixtures. We knew a lot of the lifeguards by name. The “old ladies” learned in time to avoid swimming all the way to the end of the pool and would turn around midway to swim back.
When the heat hits me now and I smell warmed brick I’m automatically returned to the noises, the sounds and the smells of my Schwimmbad in Germany. I remember what it feels like to be completely free, to think that the world belongs to me and to not have a single care, chore, task or worry. I was completely free of fear and full of trust in this amazing crazy world. That is how I want my children to grow up.
Me too Jess. Me too. - rose
ReplyDelete