Our Embarrassing Stories

Embarrassing stories. Everyone has a handful tucked away. The only good ones are those that either involves somebody else or happened long enough ago that they’ve lost the sting they once had. In any case, a major lesson that all embarrassing stories teach us how to laugh at ourselves. This is an essential life lesson and those who fail to learn it will most certainly have a hard time, with themselves and with others.

Here’s one embarrassing tail that took me several years to unveil. In retrospect, it seems funny that it took that long. But that’s how embarrassment works. We want to keep them hidden, but the only way to truly turn off the ouch is to let it loose:

The breeze chilled my half-naked body. I crossed my arms across my boney, 10-year-old chest as I waited in line for the most frightening thing known to kiddom; the high diving board.

I had been psyching myself up all summer to finally take the great plunge and join the ranks of all kids who’d been laughing at my cowardliness. And now, I watched as the over-sized girl climbed the ladder in front of me. I was next. I had been swimming for the past couple hours and my skin was wrinkled and damp. The approach of autumn was in the breeze and my knees were shivering. The girl ahead of me casually stepped out to the end of board and leaped off. She made it look so easy.

“C’mon, kid. Move it!” A kid nudged from behind.

I grabbed the cold steel railing and made my way up. I had to stay focused. I had given this plunge a lot of thought. I knew the only way I was going to survive was to have a plan. Mine had two goals: 1) Jump off the high dive and 2) swim to the bottom. I figured if I was going to do the impossible, I might as well did the impossible times two. The bottom was a full twelve feet, impossibly deep for a kid to reach simply by swimming down from the pool’s edge. Even at 10 years old, I somehow understood the basic principles of momentum and the water’s resistance and related buoyancy.

At the top, I stepped onto the board, my legs wobbly and my heart bouncing around so hard I could barely get a solid breath. “Just get to the bottom. Just get to the bottom.” I chanted in my head. Finally, I reached the end of the board. The pool looked to be a mile away. I took a breath, and jumped!

I fell, fell, fell. In my mind, it took a full minute before I reached the water. The second I did, I immediately began paddling down. I could feel myself slowing. I paddled harder and harder. Inverted and through the blur of the chlorine, I could see the pool drain above my head. Water pressure squeezed me. I paddled harder and harder. Until at last, I reached the bottom.

I flipped upright and looked up. And there, floating 12 feet above me was… my swim suit. I looked down. I was naked.

I kicked off the bottom and paddled up, up, up to the surface. My face broke through the water and I found the air for which my lungs were screaming. After a few breaths, I could hear the chorus of laughter of every kid, adult, and lifeguard pointing straight at me. Amongst the cackling, everyone took turns reciting what had happened, the jump, the bathing suit, the naked boy in the pool.

Defeated and mortified, I snatched my suit, swam to the side, struggled to get it on, and slugged out of the pool. Ugg. So much for accomplishing the impossible.