When I was about 6, my parents enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local YMCA, along with a family friend. It was fun enough heading through the large lobby, getting my little membership card that said I was now a member of the “Pollywog” group.
It was an adventure going into the large room with benches and lockers, then heading through the tiled shower rooms where we got rinsed off before going into the pool. I didn’t even care that I was freezing every time we had to walk through those showers.
The pool was a challenge for me because I was short. The water level was literally up to my nose, even as I stood up on my toes. But still, I was game enough.
We had to do things like dunk our heads. Blow bubbles underwater. Hold onto the edge of the pool and learn how to kick. They had a whole string of things we had to pass so we could move up into the next level. In spite of struggling to keep my head above water, I hung in there and passed each test, one by one.
Finally, it came down to the last test. Kick your way across the narrow side of the pool while holding onto a foam board. It seemed logical enough. If you could hold onto the side of the pool and kick strongly, then you just had to do the same thing while using a foam board to hold you up. You didn’t have to swim across the pool unaided. That’s what the board was for.
One by one, each of the many kids in the class took their turn. They’d grab their board, give a little hop to get their feet out behind them, kick furiously, and in no time, each was across the pool.
I don’t recall when exactly they asked me to do it. It seems like I had more than one chance, but I wasn’t ready. So everyone else took their turns, then climbed out on the other side to cheer on the next person.
Finally, there was no one left. Just me. The teacher called me to take my turn. I was tired of stretching up on my toes to keep my nose above water. For me to stretch my feet out behind me meant I would sink a bit, and the water level was now at my eyes. This freaked me out. I refused to go.
All of the teachers were encouraging me now, telling me I could do it. Telling me to just let go. Just kick and come to the other side. And that all the other kids did it just fine.
I knew what I felt. This was NOT going to work for me. I was sick of water in my eyes and up my nose. I could barely control what my feet were doing because I was so buoyant in the water that I couldn’t really give them enough of a kick to stretch out horizontally behind the board. I tried once or twice more, but had to keep grabbing the side of the pool to keep from going under.
Finally, I’d had enough. It didn’t matter to me if EVERYONE else crossed that pool. I was NOT letting go of the side of the pool again. I saw NO good reason to let go of the side of the pool if I was safe there.
Questions raced through my angry brain:
Why did I NEED to prove anything to anyone?
Why did I CARE if I could get to the other side?
Why should I trust that piece of foam to keep me afloat?
Besides, it was hard to hang on to the board without it shooting out away from me. What if I got to the middle of the pool and it slipped free?
The teachers called to me again. They kept telling me I could do it. That I had to do it. That if I didn’t do it, I would fail my test.
I clung to the side of the pool even tighter.
Why should I trust the teacher telling me it would be okay?
I had my own sense of what I needed, and I wasn’t letting anyone tell me otherwise.
I didn’t even care that my friend passed.
I didn’t care that I was the very last person left to pass the very last test.
I was not moving, no matter what they said.
I knew what I needed, and it was to not let go of the side of the pool.
So I flunked Pollywog.
On the ride home, my mother berated me for failing Pollywog.
“Why wouldn’t you kick across the pool?!”
“Because I was afraid.”
“You have to learn to swim.”
“But you’re afraid of the water, and you can’t swim.”
I remember feeling righteously indignant at that moment, that she expected me to do something she couldn’t. She just said that I needed to learn.
Shortly after, we went to nearby Highland Lake on a weekend outing. Dad took me out into water that was over my head and held me up while I paddled around. Then he let go and walked away. So I had no choice but to sink or swim.
A few years later, a few of us were playing in the garage. I was pulling out various glass vases from the side cabinet, and someone warned me to be careful so I wouldn’t break Mom’s vases. I assured her that even if I dropped it, it wouldn’t break because it was “hard glass.”
Yes, with logic like that, it’s amazing I went into science. But I had the courage of my convictions! This meant that if I believed I was right about something, I would prove it. After all, that’s what you did in science, test something and get the evidence to prove your point…or be proven wrong.
I was willing to fail or prove the point, not just talk about it or wonder. In my mind, you just do it and find out one way or the other what the truth is. Speculating was worthless. It was all about the bottom line, and I had the courage to risk it.
So without a moment’s hesitation, I swung the clear glass vase over my head. “Here, I’ll show you.” I was so certain the glass was too hard to break against the garage’s concrete floor. I flung the vase against the floor, full force. It shattered into a thousand pieces.
We both just stood there for a minute, speechless. I was shocked. But I had learned something new. Hard glass does not stand up to concrete. Better luck next time.
All she could say before she walked away was, “I don’t believe you just did that.”
But, I did. I may not have been right, but I was passionate. And if I thought I was right, I was willing to stand up for my beliefs, take a chance, and test them. The ultimate goal was to find out the truth.
Though I’ve never felt the need to retest that experiment, that quality of sticking to my beliefs unless evidence proves otherwise has remained. If I feel in my heart that something is right or wrong, I will follow my conscience and fight tooth and nail to get to the truth. But for sure, I did need more work on those principles of science.
Soul Mosaic 
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