The long, slow descent of shame

500 Words: U-Turn

https://open.abc.net.au/explore/68444

All the other kids are doing it.
I’ll be okay, I just have to give it a go.
Be brave.
Come on! I gingerly join the snaking queue.
Then, I’m swept along with the rest of them.
I’m in a sweaty line of kids travelling upwards, step after slow step.
Arms out to the sides, fingers gripping the railings. It’s a long, hot trip.
Cheers as someone makes it.
We keep holding on as we look down between the rungs to inspect the outcome.
Murmured discussions take place up and down the line.
Someone changes their mind.
We all shuffle to different sides as they hesitantly make their way down. They don’t get off lightly – there’s non-congratulatory slaps on the back and accidental/on-purpose tripping. Guffaws and whistles. Lots of chicken impersonations. Soon, the queue settles down again.
I can see the back of my brother’s head.
He’s about five people in front of me.
Mum told him not to do it, but he wasn’t going to listen.
And if he can give it a go (he’s three years younger than me), well I’m going to give it a go too. We keep inching upwards, ever upwards.
The deep, green water lies beneath us. Menacing.
There is the bristle of fear in the air and it’s contagious.
I can feel my heart racing.
My head feels light.
Despite the heat of the January school holidays, my skin has as many goosebumps as a plucked Christmas turkey. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea?
In no time, it’s my brother’s turn.
I watch as his head disappears over the top of the ladder.
Kids are shouting and whooping.
I peer through the rungs again, waiting to see him plummet.
In an instant, he’s free-falling, positioned in an ungraceful bellyflop. I hear his body smack the unforgiving water sharply.
Kids are laughing and pointing.
Through the rungs, I see my little brother surface and swim/limp to the side.
I just know mum will be mad and say, “I told you so.”As the next head vanishes over the top, I make a decision.
I make a u-turn.
I shift my body to the side of the ladder and start the long, slow descent of shame.
I know what I’m in for.
The slaps and jeers, the pointing and the sniggering, the name-calling and the chicken-clucking.
But I don’t care. I take my first step down the ladder – I will accept my punishment.
My second step down the ladder – I do not regret this decision.
My third step down the ladder – I feel my body flooding with relief. I continue downwards, feeling more confident with each step I take.
I want my two feet firmly back on the dirty, grey concrete path of our local swimming pool.
Conquering the second level diving board can wait for another day.

The Squealer

500 Words: Failure

https://open.abc.net.au/explore/56128

“My mother said you can’t come over and play with us because you squeal too much!” She spat the words in my face then took off.

I was only a kid, just like her, but I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to think or what to do.

Squeal? Me? What did her mother mean?I loved playing with the girls across the street. I was hardly ever invited over but when I was asked to play in their front yard, I was so excited and happy.

Squeal? Was giggling and laughing classified as a squeal? Surely not. How else could I vent my exuberance and joy as we played? Were running and chasing, playing hide and seek and having fun, activities that had to be performed in silence?I didn’t tell my parents about what had been said. I felt too much like a failure to talk about it. My ‘squealing’ meant I had failed in the neighbourhood friendship stakes – in my child’s mind I was now an embarrassment to my family and to myself.My younger brother was always being invited across the road to play with the girls’ youngest sister who was in the same class as he was. Since my family knew nothing about the ‘squealing’ accusation, he kept going over to play, whilst I busied myself at home.At the beginning of January, the girls across the road got a brand new above-ground swimming pool. My brother was one of the first kids to be invited over for a dip. Each day of the holidays, he made a very handsome sight, in his swimmers and thongs with rolled-up towel slung around his shoulders on his way to the pool.

I spent many afternoons up in our huge camphor laurel tree, looking across the road and listening to the girls, their friends and my little brother in the swimming pool, diving and splashing and having fun.One Friday afternoon, my father came home from work early, just as my brother was on his way out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” growled my father.

“Across the road for a swim,” my brother replied truthfully.

“No you’re not”, snapped Dad, “go get changed.” He grabbed him by his be-towelled shoulders and spun him around in the direction of the back door. With a howl, my brother retreated inside.

The next day, dad took the family shopping. Pool shopping. He bought us an above-ground swimming pool just like the girls across the road.

When it was all set up, dad told my brother that if he wanted to swim, he would swim here at home, no more going across the road.As a family, we had many wonderful years of fun and laughter in our backyard pool, splashing, diving, having races and even squealing.

I never did tell the family about the ‘squealing’ allegation which made me feel like such a worthless failure. As things turned out, I don’t think I really needed to.