Everybody’s always talking about “The Test”—I guess, meaning a test that shows you’re a man. Well, it’s a different test that I remember. The first night of Senior Life Saving at the high school, a cold evening in March when I was a senior. My buddy Roger wanted someone to take it with, my mother and oldest brother had taken it years ago, it didn’t sound like anything I should worry about.
Or, where I’d find myself the star attraction.
With fifty other people in the class, lots of bodies to hide behind. I thought.
First night, and we’re all lined around the edge of the indoor pool, meeting Mr. Ormond, the instructor. Big, tall, fat bear of a man, a screechy whistle around his neck, and no sense of humor. This was serious, folks, a matter of life and death.
Roger was already cracking jokes with someone, not paying attention (Roger’s way) and Mr. Ormond yelled at him, and blew his whistle for emphasis.
Serious.
Senior Life Saving–it’s free. For Roger though, it’s a requirement for the job he’s trying to get this summer. Camp counselor at a camp for underprivileged kids. Which he’s busy bragging about to the nearest clump of strangers. Provoking Ormond to blow his whistle again.
“Is this everybody? Usually I have a hundred—”
“Well, my sister couldn’t make it tonight but she’ll come next week—” a woman was explaining.
“Usually I have a hundred. To start. And end with fifteen.” To prove he does have a sense of humor, he turns to face the pool edge, bends and peers into the deep end. “Nobody drowned? Yet?”
Mr. Ormond—beast of a man. Making wise cracks we didn’t laugh at, we didn’t smile at.
“Now, how many of you are non-floaters?”
Four or five of us raised our hands.
“So—if you were in the middle of a lake and too tired to swim—or you thought it was too far—you think you’d just drown?”
No answer.
“You’re all wrong. Everybody can float! Only one out of a thousand people can’t float. You just think you can’t. I’ve never met a single person who couldn’t float—if you just relax. And, there’s a simple test to prove it! Anybody who doesn’t believe me— You curl up in a ball, you hug your knees, with your head down, and jump in the pool!”
None of us moved.
“Come on, you hold your breath—and we’ll see what comes up.”
He grabbed the closest hand-raiser and shoved her in.
We waited to see—what? Her head still under water, her shoulder blades bobbled to the surface.
“SEE?”
See what? I wondered.
“In you go! You say you can’t float—I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
One by one the other non-floaters jumped into the pool too, completely
disappearing; one by one, in a moment, their upper-back and shoulders showed just above the water’s surface.
“SEE?” Mr. Ormond had a diabolical sneer on his face—aimed at me because I was next and last.
The people still in the pool clung to the edge and Mr. Ormond was explaining to them, “Your shoulders came up first. The lung has more air in the top than the bottom. If you just relax and—“
At this point, I jumped in the pool.
Confused, wondering what—how else—? Praying I was as mistaken as the others.
Nope.
Suddenly my butt (only) rose to the surface.
I plunged downward again—my butt surfaced again.
“Oh—my—I never saw—!”
Now he laughed. Now everybody laughed too. A friendly sound though, what a great way to break the ice.
Gasping for air, I clung to the pool-edge too.
“You—can’t—float! You truly are a non-floater, son.”
I smiled weakly, too wet and chilled to blush.
“Only one in a thousand! That means your lungs have more air at the bottom—so your butt comes up first.” He laughed. “So—unless you can breathe through your butt—!”
Mr. Ormond shaking his head as we climbed out. Telling me, “Okay—so you don’t ever want to go down with the ship. I never saw anyone—anyone—come up butt-first before!”
Would he please stop?!?
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re unique. Butt-first!”
—
