Dive

As children grow older they progressively separate themselves from their parents.  This isn't a bad thing, it is part of their own preparation for life.  Still it can be a hard and at times torturous process as they reach for independence and still want security.  As parents, we do our best to provide security but know in our hearts we have to let them go.

For most teenagers their ambitions and activities take them away from their parents.  I would look rather odd riding around in the back seat of my son's friends car.  I would most certainly at best wind up in traction and at worst kill myself if I ever tried to step on one of my son's skateboards or long boards.   Still I think we as parents try to think up activities to keep our children close to us.  Often they are things that we desire more than they do and the activity itself becomes a torture to the very child we want to hold close.  In a sense our very attempt to be with our child drives them further away.

I think I may have learned the secret to this complex dilemma.  I found that if you let your child lead you to an activity, something important to them, you become an essential part of it.  In 2011 we visited the Philippines and my son went scuba diving for the first time.  The experience changed something inside of him and after returning to the US his entire view of life changed.  It wasn't just superficial, it was something much more profound.  He wanted desperately to continue to develop his diving skills and hoped to some day incorporate them into a profession, perhaps Marine Biology.  I was reluctant at first, the cost was simply overwhelming but I recognized the importance hidden behind the fire and enthusiasm in his eyes.  At first I thought I would simply fund him yet as time past it became apparent how important it was for him to share the experience with me.

There are moments in all parents lives that we regret.  Instances when we wish we had spent more time listening or simply being beside our children.  They grow so fast and in an instant each stage is gone replaced simply by a photo or memory.  Despite my own fear of swimming and water I decided I would overcome it.  I would conquer my fears and learn with him, I would be with him.  We enrolled in a scuba class and as the months passed I paid for it and bought our gear little by little.  He did his best to help with money he had saved and by the time the course came around we were ready.  My father had hoped to join us yet his body forbid him.  Problems with his back would not allow his certification.  Still he did his best taking a course that would at least permit him to snorkel nearby. 

The course was divided into two weekends of intensive training.  The first involved pool dives and classroom skills.  I found myself overcoming my own fears little by little.  At the same time, beside me, my son was doing the exact same thing.  Each of us reflecting our insecurities in different ways.  By the time each day was done I was mentally and physically exhausted yet so was he and in that very exhaustion we shared a common bond.

Scuba diving is all about buddies.  It is trusting another person with your life if things were things to go wrong.  As we knelt beside each other fully submerged and practiced our skills my father noted how beautiful it was to see us caring for each other.  I was the oldest in the class but I didn't feel old.  Others were more out of shape.  Uniquely anti-social my son hoped the experience would break me out of my shell a bit.  That together, he and I would join the commonality of divers and all that goes with that.  It did however become quickly apparent that each prospective diving candidate had their own unique and at times, disturbing personality.  The lynch pin of it them all was the large overly expressive and often annoying dive shop employee we quickly named The Jerk.

I should have taken it as an ominous sign when I first encountered Big Jerk, perched on his stool behind the counter.  Huge in stature and girth his general attitude spoke the language of the know-it-all. This came to a hub when after spending 130 dollars on a dive mask I decided I wanted to buy the official mask scrub and defogger.  As I approached the counter he rejected my attempt.  No, just use toothpaste, don't buy the scrub.  Buy a bigger more expensive bottle of defogger!  I hadn't the courage to stand up against the know it all.  I felt like I was buying a car and soon would add the under coating.  I shrunk in the presence of Big Jerk's mammoth proportions and left my scrub.  I tried to go back later and buy the little bottle I so badly desired but they had completely sold out leaving me to my Crest toothpaste.  As I searched in vain for the scrub on the dive shop counter I arrived at the disturbing reality that apparently either Big Jerk had a light work schedule or there were others with much bigger Kahunas than I.  My second encounter with Big Jerk happened when we returned to the shop to exchange a rented wet suit my son had.  When my son put it on he literally looked blue and I think his voice raised three octaves the pressure on his balls was so tight.

"Look at him!"  I said.
"No, tight is good!" Big Jerk answered.
"Yes but if he wears this he won't be able to have children." I replied.

As my son stood barely able to bend his arms let alone close the zipper at his back  Big Jerk walked over to me and with hushed breath proceeded to tell me all the reasons why I should not listen to my son's  pleas for help and stay with the current torture device.  I summarily ignored him.  Hey, it was my son and my legacy.  This was no mask scrub.  Fortunately our dive instructor intervened and helped us arrive at a solution.

My father and son have modified Big Jerk's name to Maybe Big Jerk.  Apparently they discovered Big Jerk is getting a divorce.  My father having experienced divorce himself was obviously sympathetic.  I on the other hand immediately attributed the divorce to Big Jerk being well... a Jerk.  As time passed I must say Maybe Big Jerk has redeemed himself.  It must have just been a bad day.  Maybe he was feeling, as I often do, that no one in the world hears a word I say.  I now just think of him as the Big Man. 

Our class was taught by a husband and wife team.  Both seemed to be accomplished divers and were possibly using the same medication because their energy level far surpassed mine even on my best day.  In retrospect when I discovered that at least the female was using Nitrox tanks (Essentially a special oxygen mix that requires special training and can in the wrong circumstances make someone extremely loopy) it explained a little.  Unfortunately this was ultimately dis-proven as any Nitrox was simply residual in a tank filled with a normal mix of nitrogen and oxygen. No, my dive instructor was simply one happy woman.  "Is this what diving does?"  I thought. "Maybe I do have a bright future!" 

While it may sound like a criticism, I do believe that when trying to deal  with nine students laden with gear all afraid of dying perhaps a little enthusiasm is a good thing.  I commend her and her husband for their ability to rise above.  As we sat in our first classroom session and looked around the room names suddenly appeared on the up to then nameless faces.  There was the Bitch and her silent daughter.  Mother was a tall attractive woman of obvious wealth who in my mind was attending the course with her tiny, soft spoken and unassuming daughter simply to avoid her ex husband's desire to do the same.  She spent most of the course getting help from her daughter, flirting with muscle bound dive masters and texting on her cell phone.  I must say, she did look ravishing in her sleeveless dive suit that seemed to be in perfect condition despite her claims of previous dive knowledge.  At one point during the training I apparently dived and flipped my flippers hitting the side of her daughter.  Collisions were impossible to avoid as we were all in close proximity.  There was actually a section of the class where the instructors said as much explaining that divers have a limited field of vision.  Just let it go they said, turn the other cheek. 

The mother who apparently had suddenly been struck with a need to proclaim her motherly protectiveness had obviously been texting during that portion of the class as she turned to my son and said she would have to speak to me about that.  My fifteen year old son looked at her and said something like, "I am sure he didn't mean it, speaking would not be necessary." I later discovered that Bitch mom was actually the wife of a large animal veterinarian.  Perhaps she had become like she was as the result of her husband returning home smelling like the rear end of a horse or cow. 

Then there was the military guy.  Military guys are always interesting because they pursue everything with the gusto and confidence of basic training.  It is almost as if they expect a Drill Sargent to be looming over their shoulder screaming orders and insults at the top of his lungs.  When they realize he is not there they relax slightly and allow the over confidence to dominate their personality.

Most of the students were on the young side, the youngest being the prodigy of the rich with fathers who seemed to have little time.  One had a handsome blond muscle bound father that hurriedly dropped him off before jetting off in his pickup.   Another had a father that seemed to be of the Jewish sort probably satisfied that he had taken care of his kid by paying for the course allowing him to check another box in childhood development.  He nervously verified times for pickup probably with the nagging voice of a Jewish mother or wife in his other ear wondering why he had never become a doctor.

Rounding out the group were Volvo Guy who was young, overweight and drove a beat up Volvo station wagon. "Never get a speeding ticket."  He said as he happily loaded his tanks.  I must say, of everyone he seemed the most down to earth.  There was also Secret Man.  He never really said much choosing to always stay in the shadows.  At the outset of the course I heard him asking the instructors for reassurance that he would not appear in any group photo.

The mystery surrounding Secret Man only grew by the third dive at Lake Jocassee.  Mystery man arrived in a BMW with Virginia plates.  He announced he would only be able to do two of three planned dives because he had another engagement.  He would have to finish the last one later.  Now to give you a point of reference getting to Lake Jo is a three hour drive each way.  Must have been a pretty important engagement?!?!  For lunch our instructor cooked hot dogs.  In order to make the process quicker she would boil them and then grill them in a pan.  Secret man scrutinized the operation and said his must not be boiled.  At some point my son captured a photograph of him walking up a long boat ramp with another instructor.  Secret Man turned his head as if to stay hidden in the shadows.

Meanwhile during the dive the father of the Jewish boy, Jew man watched in the shadow of a sign.  I am not sure he moved.  Not to talk to his son, not to help his son, not to pee.  He just stood and watched. Several other classes were doing their dives around us.  One man, a realtor paced back and forth his cell phone wedged to his ear negotiating a real estate deal. 

Learning to dive is a process of conquering your fears.  It is much like learning to live with spiders and snakes when you move to the south.  It is a personal psychological challenge that while frightening quickly became rewarding.  My son and I are both working on his mother.  After surviving a horrible incident of abuse involving water and a maid/nanny as a child she has always been afraid of water.  It would be neat if she could gently conquer her fears as I have done.  I am still not completely unafraid but maybe that becomes intertwined with respect.  Little by little I became more confident in the class and as I practice in the future this confidence will grow.  Ironically the hardest, most nerve racking thing for me was simply treading water for ten minutes with no gear, without stopping.  I have never been a great swimmer and the feeling of water entering my mouth can be quite terrifying.  If I was to ever be water boarded I would readily admit to being being a cross dressing lunatic with fantasies of dressing like the queen if that is what it took to stop.

Meanwhile as Noah and I worked our way through the skills and tests my father floated around us treading water for hours while trying to record with a go pro video camera.  While not beside us, he was with us and that felt nice.


My instructor told me that she and her husband saved their money early on and retired quite young.  They still both look young, maybe it is the diving that is keeping them that way.  They moved to South Carolina and played golf.  That only lasted so long before they decided to become divers.  Now they spend their days teaching and giving.  I admire them both so much.  Anyone that teaches has to love what they do as the recompense is negligible.  It was obvious how much both of them do.  When the course ended I didn't want to say goodbye.  I don't have many friends yet the patience, attention and friendship they both showed to my son and I spoke to me in a soft whisper. 

In life we all find things we love.  Things that bring us together and bond friendship.  Things that let us express ourselves.  Sometimes even when small, accomplishing something feels really good.  I felt that way diving with my father and son for two weeks in July.   It was great for three generations to share something together.  It was great to be there with my son.  After all, he is now officially my dive buddy.