Paradise Lake
Learning to swim in Paradise Lake was a distant memory in 2008 when my family took a trip to our hometown for the first time since we moved away in 1964.
I rekindled a relationship with my first best friend, who admitted to being ticked off at me for the past forty-four years because my family moved to N.Y. He took me around town for the first few days to all the old haunts, especially Paradise Lake.
Life in Paradise
My love for living near water began at Paradise Lake. Every summertime, the five of us rode our bikes three miles to the lake on the weekdays.
Being the runt of the group, I could not swim as well as the bigger boys. I would hang out close to the beach and watch as they swam out past the end of the pier.
Even for the bravest, it wasn’t long before they would turn and hurry back to the safety of the beach. The water out there was dark, scary, and cold.
During the second week of vacation, our Scout troop had a summer camp, and the boy from Chicago who won the Blue Ribbon for swimming was shorter than I was!
Whoa! I had to ask him, “Ronnie, how did you learn to swim that fast?” Unlike the bigger boys, he didn’t mind sharing his secret. “It’s easy; all you gotta do is…”
My Life Changed
Before he finished showing me, I knew I could do that! The next trip to the lake saw a new me. I practiced what Ronnie taught me, and the ruse worked.
The water next to the shore was about two feet deep. When I waded in, just in case I was being watched, I pushed away from the pier, did a substantial overhand sweep into the water, grabbed a handful of sand from the lake’s floor, and propelled myself forward.
When I came up for air, the adults watching from the window clapped and whistled. They were impressed with my improvement.
It worked, and after a few weeks of using these exaggerated strokes, I had everyone fooled. In my dreams, every night, I swam past the dropoff into the cold water and almost to the island without grabbing sand before I turned back.
During those balmy, lazy days of doing not much, we had a lot of fun at the lake, but that changed rapidly on the last day of vacation. Ronnie was back in Chicago by then, and my secret was safe.
Reputations are Won and Lost
Howard, the premier sand crawler who never shared his technique, was back from summer vacation in Chicago. Having heard of my swimming prowess, he watched me closely and immediately knew what I was doing.
He timed my exposure perfectly and waited until we got out of the water for the last time to challenge me in front of everybody; with a frown on his face, he said, “Since you swim so well now, Pickle, I double-dog-dare you to swim to the dropoff!”
He timed it perfectly. The ultimate insult. It was late evening, and the water was cooling rapidly. He double-dog-dared me and called me by the nickname I spent years leaving behind! I had no choice but to respond. It was a double-dog dare!
The fellas were quiet, and the cold, dead dropoff was waiting. Local rumor said that before we were born, many nameless, hardheaded children reached that point of no return and disappeared, never to be seen again.
Howard stood safely on the sand at the pier’s beginning, confidently pointed toward No-Man’s water, and repeated his dare.
Everyone stood silently, looking at me, waiting for my response. Without hesitation, I took a deep breath, ran to the end of the pier, and jumped in feet first.
Paradise Found
I went under, bounced off the bottom with my feet, and dove back underwater. I stretched my arm out, grabbed a handful of dirt on the bottom, and launched ahead, gliding toward deep water.
When I reached down for the sand again, there was only water. I didn’t panic because it felt like my dreams. The water was too deep for my hands to reach the bottom, but the force of my pulling handfuls of water toward me propelled me forward faster than ever. Wow! I was swimming! For real!
Suddenly, the water cooled and changed colors to a dark, murky gray. I turned around, treaded water like Ronnie taught me, and surprised myself that I wasn’t sinking like a brick.
The fellas cheered me on, laughed, and pointed at Howard for getting it wrong and losing. I dove under and grabbed the water hard and fast.
Within a few strokes, I floated up to the shallow end by the head of the pier and pulled myself out of the lake for the last time. Howard was nowhere to be found, and it was official: I knew how to swim, thanks to Ronnie.
We ended that day with a big campfire and took many photos. A few weeks later, my family moved to New York, and I never swam in the lake of my dreams again.
When I returned in 2008, one of my high school friends owned the lot next door to where the pier used to stand. While looking at old photos of the crew, nostalgia hit me. My friend asked, “Remember the year you learned to swim?”
Paradise Lake: Home
Fond memories flooded back. I responded with a big smile and told him, “I bought the lot from Arnold, and we closed yesterday. I’m building a new pier, and my bucket list will be complete.”
And to defend myself, Dude! When we moved away, I was sixteen, with zero control!”
“I cherish the memories!”
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Live Well,
CK DeLeon
Email: blpress@balmylane.com
Home: https://www.balmylane.com
Site: https://balmylane.com/balmy-lane-books/
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