Black People Don't Swim

This is a realization I had today while Sam and I were at the beach (here we have Sam at the beach). There seems to be a healthy population of black people in California, but the proportion of black people you see at the beach isn't exactly high. Today we saw one black man. The rest were beautifully fit and robust white young folk and a handful of hispanics.

The week of my wedding, my brother, Jack, who pretty much only hangs out with black people since he lives in Georgia now, just mentioned in conversation that "black people don't swim." Flashback! I'd only been to the beach with my family once when I was five. We were here in Cali to visit Disneyland and the beach. But my dad never . . . swam. He didn't even own swim trunks for most of my life. He came with us to the pool, to Typhoon Lagoon, or to the beach, but I have 0 memories of my dad, who is black, swimming or immersing himself in water. My mom, who's Korean, did swim with us; for example, she scooped the vomit out of the wavepool when I lost my lunch, which I remember as the pinnacle of motherly love.

Yesterday Sam and I went swimming at the outdoor pool outside our complex for the first time. I was the one who suggested it, but after repeatedly dipping my big toe in and having these awful recollections of freezing my limbs off in the last hellishly cold and long Utah winter (does anyone else feel that way about the cold? I even grew up in Colorado)--I just stood there at the edge of the pool for maybe ten minutes wringing my hands together. Sam even pretended like he was drowning (several times) to see if I'd get in the water. No go.

I admit I have a fear of drowning and of water in general--lakes and oceans scare me to death. I went snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef once and it was the most frightening experience of my life, I think--I swam over a giant clam with my head above the water in the shallows, and when I looked down I started shrieking into my snorkel (see below and experience a similar response). My leg was just hovering over it--they said it'd close if I touched it. I'm also scared of fish. I like to eat them, but I don't like to be in water with them. Basically, like I said, I'm scared of water.





















There's a third and very important factor that contributes to this reluctance and anxiety involved with immersing myself (beyond hatred of cold and the depth), which could be the subject of an entire book. I've actually considered and written the intro to a memoir entirely devoted to the story of my hair--a very long story. As a half asian/black Blasian, of the three children in my family, I'm the only one who inherited the unadulterated fro. Jack has pretty straight hair and Janet has the ever-so-coveted ringlets. My dad used to make me get my hair relaxed, which I have since I was 6. Chemical straightening--usually involving lye that burns your scalp, even to the point of bleeding if you're not careful. I had this done routinely between ages 6 and 17, and let my hair grow out naturally until about 2 months ago when I finally gave in and had my hair done before the wedding. I never realized how grateful I would be to have relaxed hair again. It's still curly, but it's not... a fro. But what am I getting at? That's a completely different story.

Let me put it this way. If you ever live amongst a gaggle of modern black women, you will find that they wash their hair maybe once every 1-2 weeks, unless they have braids/dreads and then maybe they just won't wash it at all, and when you wash, it's a big deal--the process of washing and redoing one's hair may take up to 3 hours depending on the girl. When I straighten my hair, then, I usually wash once a week.

This is the product my mom used to use when she did my hair in elementary school.

So, if you're in New York on a rainy day, you'll notice the black women will go through great lengths to keep their hair from coming in contact with any moisture. So do I. After getting my hair relaxed in high school, I even got a note from my dad to get out of swimming in P.E. because you can't just swim whenever you want after getting a $60-$80 dollar perm. It's cheaper if you do it yourself, which I definitely don't and probably never will. Tricky business!

Anyway, this third factor contributes to the hypothesis that, mmmmm hm, black people don't swim. But I am proud to say, after about 15 minutes and much commotion, Sam finally coaxed me out into the ocean today. It was very cold and I wasn't planning to go in until maybe mid July, but I felt very brave, as if I were conquering some weakness in my soul, and I rode the ocean waves for the first time this summer.

We'll see if I ever do it again. At least until next week.

P.S. This is me in my McDonald's uniform on my first day, if you're looking for actual proof of this experiment. That's my DI bike I ride to work . . . I even wear a new helmet we got at Target so I can experience the full effect of dorkification + reliving/coming to terms with the worst of high school self-consciousness. I already have a greater appreciation for my own clothing, our comfortable living situation, Sam's job, and his social/conversational/handsomeness skills. I like being in a clean comfy home with him much more, especially now, than splashing OJ and hot coffee on my hands. But at the same time, I have been much happier here since starting at McDonald's. I love the new friends I'm making and it's actually . . . fun. If you don't believe me, maybe you should try it yourself. Hmph.