Agua. Wasser. Water. DEATH.
I mentioned my fear of ghosts a couple of posts ago. After a week or two of ridicule, I have decided to reveal my only other major fear, and that’s WATER! Water, you say? How’s that? How do you shower? wash your hands? get into SuperSoaker Oozinator Wars? I do all of those things, for sure. Otherwise, I would be the smelliest/most homeless man on Earth. I’m terrified of LARGE bodies of water, even swimming pools of 6 feet or deeper.
The movie Jaws didn’t help. Neither did Jaws 3-D (Where the 3rd dimension is terror)—the one at the Sea World-like theme park. You never know what’s down below. You might get stuck if you peep the funk flow. I know that Jaws and other sea-themed movies like Waterworld (I don’t want to have to drink my own pee if I get stranded in the ocean FOREVER), Lake Placid, Deep Blue Sea and Anaconda Fights Ice Cube (Heyeeyay!) sensationalize the mysteries of the deep and the consequences of getting too involved with water. I should be a grown up and take swimming lessons with the lil’ four year-olds at the Y. It might be a great chance to get my floaties on. Fuck that. The children can have the ocean. They’ll learn.
I, unfortunately, met my grandparents on my mother’s side once. It was my first trip to the ocean I can remember. I was about four, and maybe too young to remember many details. However, one interaction left me scarred for life.
Living on the Gulf Coast most of my life, my parents and family always thought it was a good idea to go to the coast can catch crabs by hand. It always weirded me out seeing my uncles lurched over the water and diving their arms into the murky water. They would always come out with something–a crab, a boot.
My parents took most of my family and my g-rents to the coast to partake in some crab-grabbing activities. My grandpa, being from the old country, was, naturally, a rough dude. According to oral tradition, he was actually kind of insane, but in a badass “I’ll shoot anything for fun” way, not in a “I bang my head on the wall for hours” manner. A constant source of entertainment, my Gpaz thought it would be a great idea to terrorize me with a freshly caught crab.
As Terror-Gramps chased me up and down the pier with a snapping crab in-hand, I think my young mind right then and there declared its hatred for the sea. Getting flopping, gasping pesces thrown at your feet, as your grandfather cackles, and your entire family encourages his actions is not a great way to get acquainted with the ocean.
I don’t resent my grandfather. We had enough pleasant memories, and I got to fuck with his hat and teeth enough to make up for it. I just know that this and a near-drowning when I was around 13 have kind of made the seas and large bodies of water scary to me.
There have been occasions recently when I have thrown away my fears and entered the water. The most recent being 2007… It was a girl’s fault. Like any good piece of literature or The Bible, I blame a woman for making me do what I don’t want to do.
Life is too short to be worried about dying. You’re going to have to some day. I should just nut up and get my swim on. BUT, how baller would it be to be 65 and learning how to swim? That’s a cute story for a Hallmark movie or something, right? I could sell my story. Anyway, I have no way of ending this one, soooo…