The Boy in the Pool
Don’t cause a splash. Don’t make any commotion no matter what. These are the rules and boy are they enforced. Day and night, my parents tell me the rules. Over and over again. Got it. Got it. Don’t cause a splash. Don’t make any commotion. They’ve repeated this over eighty times on the car ride to the pool. We care about what the other parents think of us. Our reputation is at stake. Don’t cause a splash. Don’t make any commotion no matter what. These are the rules. Eighty-one. Got it. Got it.
We get to the pool party. So many kids and so much fun. Lots of splashing going on. Every kid is freely swimming. As my parents hold my hand, I feel the tight grip that says ‘I know other kids are splashing, but you know the rules’. I understand the squeeze and nod my head. Then when we are within eye line and earshot of the other parents, my grown-ups proudly declare “GO HAVE FUN! GO BE A KID! WE’LL BE RIGHT HERE IF YOU NEED US!”
How confusing that is for the ears of a child like me. Do I really have fun and be a kid or do I follow the rules they said in the car? So I step in cautiously. I slip! Splash! Oh no! I look to my parents. Their eyes are on the other parents. Of course, the other parents begin laughing and huffing about my silly slip in the pool. A sigh of relief. My parents relax and decide to laugh as well.
As I get comfortable in the pool and begin to play with the other kids, I notice that the other parents look at me a little differently. Are they in on the secret rules too? Do they know the secret rules that I have to stay calm and fit in? No splashes. I go to the deep end to really practice my swimming skills. I’ve worked hard. I just want to flex my muscles a little bit. I wade to the deep end and one of the boys swims underneath me and pulls my ankles down! I go underwater. Another boy switches out to keep me under. I fight and kick and break to the surface. I splash!
The other parents were either concerned or annoyed at my splashing. They shot menacing glares at my parents. My parents shot me a horrendous look. STOP SPLASHING! YOU’RE CAUSING A SCENE! They say with their eyes. I cry out for help and am pulled back under. I have no time to think about the look they gave me. Am I causing a scene? Am I splashing too loud? I am good at holding my breath. Maybe it’s just a game. I’m fine down here. The boys keep taking turns. They can keep this up forever. I can’t. Again, I come back up. I cry for help. My mother comes to the side of the pool and bends low.
“I took a big risk on bringing you here,” she says. “You’re making me look bad with the other parents. My boss is here. STOP SPLASHING!” She says that last part with her eyes. Back under. Again I go through the crucible while everyone up top fights amongst themselves of whether I should be splashing at their pool or not.
“I once had an aunt who drowned, I get it,” one of the mothers says while she sips her drink.
“I am SO angry that those boys are so mean,” a dad secretly whispers to his wife. They are the minority. “This world is so messed up.”
“You tell me what to do and I’m on it,” a mother secretly whispers to me as I come up. “I’m an ally! I’d take your place if I could!”
I get pulled under again. Thank goodness I got a few seconds of good air. With all my might, I kick the boys who are truly trying to drown me. I get out of the pool, find a towel, and hide. My parents have already disowned me. They pretend they’ve had doubts about me the whole time and join in with the gossip of the other mean girl parents. Together, my parents stare at me as if I’m the biggest inconvenience in their lives. Their stamina for swallowing tough truths is non-existent.
An offended parent goes to my parents.
“YOUR SON KICKED MY CHILD’S FACE UNDER THE WATER!”
My parents responded so fast, “We are so sorry! We’ll look into this. We’re not surprised. He has a history of causing a commotion while the rest of us are just trying to relax.”
Another adult comes to ask me about the situation.
It all is so chaotic. I scream. I get in trouble for screaming. I whisper and I’m told I need to speak up if I want to be heard. I speak in a mellow tone and no one listens. Every option I’ve tried in expressing myself has always resulted in my own torment. If I am loud, I am everything they say I am and now they have proof. If I am quiet, they don’t have to acknowledge my existence. Regardless, I am kept inside the preconstructed box of who they want and believe me to be. To challenge that box is to poke the bear. To question the box is to unseat so many comfortable people sitting atop it. I really should stop causing a splash. Even the ones who wanted me safe couldn’t resist the comfort given to them by feeling included in the group; belonging. Belonging is a price that people will drown me for. Because I am told I don’t belong, I am an easy price to pay.
For the child like me, belonging costs extra. Do I sit in the box and be drowned? Do I speak up and get suffocated? That choice is mine alone and no ‘ally’ or ‘friend’ has the ability to even comprehend the price I pay for simply existing. I got out of that pool on my own, thank you very much. I have taken care of myself and not one of you on the outside of the pool can take any credit for this. You are only an ally when a person inside the pool declares you an ally.
Those who love me know that I’m not one to keep quiet forever. As I hold my towel and run for shelter, you might not find me preaching. In my healing and recovery, I might be quiet. That’s where my allies are. With me in the quiet. Only then, will I invite them to shout with me. That is simply to rekindle my voice and come up with a better game plan. My roar will find me again, although lost, it will seek me. When it does, it will silence everyone at the party. If it doesn’t, I will recharge and my roar will come back stronger. I will continue endlessly feeding and nourishing my voice until the day when it truly brings an end to the injustice.
