It's summer. Spring did just that and has sprung right past me. But I can tell you it looked and smelled beautiful. I survived the remainder of my finals, and the trees and shrubs seemed to bloom in celebration. As I descended the long staircase south of campus after my last test, the trees bending their blossomed branches in an arch over my head, I was reminded of one of my favorite fictional heroines, who would have named such a place "White Way Delight"—so fitting because it suit both the sight and the feeling of that moment. And now it's summer. Most of the blossoms are gone, to be replaced by popsicles, grilled hot dogs and thunderstorms. I am enjoying the heat and the freedom.
I'm reading a book. A real book. Not some 800-page monstrosity prescribed by a professor. I am reading a romantic, suspenseful, full-of-imagery-and-simile's, delicious piece of fiction set in the 1930's, no strings (notes, critical analyses, quizzes or tests) attached. It's beautiful. And it's called Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I highly recommend it.
I have another job. In addition to my custodial job on campus, I am now crowned with the privilege of sitting on a chair for three hours, blowing a whistle and screaming at running children, all while acquiring skin cancer. That's right, yours truly is a bona fide lifeguard! It's an entertaining job, to say the least. There's something about strutting around in a bathing suit with a red rescue tube and a whistle around your neck that strikes awe into people. The polarized sun glasses probably don't help, either. It gives us a blank, emotionless stare that creeps people out.
I love it.
My very first day, there were two boys throwing each other into the air in far too shallow water. I was on roving duty, which means I walk around and give people dirty looks, so I sauntered their way, staring in their direction as they approached. Both hesitated for a moment, one ready to launch the other. When I got close enough, I simply stared, silent, and shook my head slowly, disapprovingly. With the most frightened looks on their faces, both boys stammered nonsense and swam away.
Way too much fun.
Of course I jest. Lifeguarding is not all fun and games. I am haunted by the fear that in a brief moment of distraction, I'll miss a small child's head slipping beneath the water, and in the chaos of the scores of other children screaming and thrashing about as they play, I won't notice someone drowning. That very same day, an experienced lifeguard pointed out a particularly vulnerable boy to me, warning me to keep an eye on him. I didn't see at first glance what should make him a danger case, but not ten minutes later he wandered into water too deep. His tiny little arms were stretched up over his head, he was standing as far on the tips of his toes as he could, and still the surface of the water closed over his face. The sight of his eyes looking up from under the water horrified me. I've never had such an adrenaline rush in my life. I was in the act of jumping in when a mother nearby noticed, grabbed him and handed him to me. His mother, who was on the opposite side of the pool, noticed the commotion and casualy came over to retrieve him from me. She had been chatting with another woman and was still unaware that for the past fifteen minutes, her son had been wandering further and further away.
She seemed confused when I told her that he was too small, that she needed to stay with him. "He can't touch?" she said. She had no idea that he had almost drowned.
I know too many people who want to be lifeguards because they think it's an easy way to earn money and get a tan at the same time. I now know that, if your priorities are straight, the tan comes with a hefty dose of stress (which has nothing to do with sunburn). Being responsible for people's lives is and should not be easy. But I enjoy it. I gain a great deal of satisfaction at the end of my shift knowing there were no accidents under my watch.
I once read a book called Summer of the Monkeys. It was charming, about a young boy with dreams and ambitions like most other boys. It is full of Tom Sawyer-esque adventures and hilarious skirmishes, but mostly it is about what the boy learns, and how much he grows and changes in that one summer.
I'm looking forward to the rest of the summer. There are good, memorable days ahead. I am sure that I will look back upon this summer as one with particular meaning. This is a summer of change, of growth, of big decisions and new directions. I have chosen to serve a mission. The teachings of the church I have grown up in are responsible for all the good and happiness in my life, and I have decided to take the opportunity to share what I have found, what I know, with others.
It is not an easy decision. I have made many friends here, formed bonds that I do not want to break. People will move away or marry. My nephew will be four years old—speaking in full sentences and causing all sorts of trouble. My little sister will have grown up and become completely unrecognizable. I will delay my education for at least two years and spend a year and a half among complete strangers, in a culture different from mine, possibly speaking a language I have not learned, preaching a gospel I love but do not yet perfectly know, communicating with loved ones back home only through letters. I will work harder than I have worked in my entire life, facing new challenges and difficult situations, without the comfort of knowing that my loving parents are simply a phone call away.
It is not an easy decision, but it is a good one. I will grow up. I will be wiser and stronger for this experience, more confident in my own abilities and judgment. I will be better equipped to choose and direct the path of my life, to make difficult decisions and stick to them, no matter the cost. I will see another part of the world and open myself up to new, unique experiences and ideas. I will learn to love perfect stangers for the simple fact that they exist. I will share a knowledge that has so molded and defined me with others who need it, and experience the joy that only sharing something so sacred brings. My family, who have blessed me in so many ways, will in turn be blessed for my service. Despite all the doubts and fears thrown my way, I know that this is something I need. Everything I'm leaving behind, all the sacrifices I'll be required to make, will be for my good.
So I begin this summer with gratitude, and excitement, and that strange feeling you get when you know you're doing something for the last time, when you feel the significance of every thing and every person around you. You cherish everything so much more, and there seems to be so little time. The summer will pass so quickly, but I know it will be a good one.
I'm reading a book. A real book. Not some 800-page monstrosity prescribed by a professor. I am reading a romantic, suspenseful, full-of-imagery-and-simile's, delicious piece of fiction set in the 1930's, no strings (notes, critical analyses, quizzes or tests) attached. It's beautiful. And it's called Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I highly recommend it.
I have another job. In addition to my custodial job on campus, I am now crowned with the privilege of sitting on a chair for three hours, blowing a whistle and screaming at running children, all while acquiring skin cancer. That's right, yours truly is a bona fide lifeguard! It's an entertaining job, to say the least. There's something about strutting around in a bathing suit with a red rescue tube and a whistle around your neck that strikes awe into people. The polarized sun glasses probably don't help, either. It gives us a blank, emotionless stare that creeps people out.
I love it.
My very first day, there were two boys throwing each other into the air in far too shallow water. I was on roving duty, which means I walk around and give people dirty looks, so I sauntered their way, staring in their direction as they approached. Both hesitated for a moment, one ready to launch the other. When I got close enough, I simply stared, silent, and shook my head slowly, disapprovingly. With the most frightened looks on their faces, both boys stammered nonsense and swam away.
Way too much fun.
Of course I jest. Lifeguarding is not all fun and games. I am haunted by the fear that in a brief moment of distraction, I'll miss a small child's head slipping beneath the water, and in the chaos of the scores of other children screaming and thrashing about as they play, I won't notice someone drowning. That very same day, an experienced lifeguard pointed out a particularly vulnerable boy to me, warning me to keep an eye on him. I didn't see at first glance what should make him a danger case, but not ten minutes later he wandered into water too deep. His tiny little arms were stretched up over his head, he was standing as far on the tips of his toes as he could, and still the surface of the water closed over his face. The sight of his eyes looking up from under the water horrified me. I've never had such an adrenaline rush in my life. I was in the act of jumping in when a mother nearby noticed, grabbed him and handed him to me. His mother, who was on the opposite side of the pool, noticed the commotion and casualy came over to retrieve him from me. She had been chatting with another woman and was still unaware that for the past fifteen minutes, her son had been wandering further and further away.
She seemed confused when I told her that he was too small, that she needed to stay with him. "He can't touch?" she said. She had no idea that he had almost drowned.
I know too many people who want to be lifeguards because they think it's an easy way to earn money and get a tan at the same time. I now know that, if your priorities are straight, the tan comes with a hefty dose of stress (which has nothing to do with sunburn). Being responsible for people's lives is and should not be easy. But I enjoy it. I gain a great deal of satisfaction at the end of my shift knowing there were no accidents under my watch.
I once read a book called Summer of the Monkeys. It was charming, about a young boy with dreams and ambitions like most other boys. It is full of Tom Sawyer-esque adventures and hilarious skirmishes, but mostly it is about what the boy learns, and how much he grows and changes in that one summer.
I'm looking forward to the rest of the summer. There are good, memorable days ahead. I am sure that I will look back upon this summer as one with particular meaning. This is a summer of change, of growth, of big decisions and new directions. I have chosen to serve a mission. The teachings of the church I have grown up in are responsible for all the good and happiness in my life, and I have decided to take the opportunity to share what I have found, what I know, with others.
It is not an easy decision. I have made many friends here, formed bonds that I do not want to break. People will move away or marry. My nephew will be four years old—speaking in full sentences and causing all sorts of trouble. My little sister will have grown up and become completely unrecognizable. I will delay my education for at least two years and spend a year and a half among complete strangers, in a culture different from mine, possibly speaking a language I have not learned, preaching a gospel I love but do not yet perfectly know, communicating with loved ones back home only through letters. I will work harder than I have worked in my entire life, facing new challenges and difficult situations, without the comfort of knowing that my loving parents are simply a phone call away.
It is not an easy decision, but it is a good one. I will grow up. I will be wiser and stronger for this experience, more confident in my own abilities and judgment. I will be better equipped to choose and direct the path of my life, to make difficult decisions and stick to them, no matter the cost. I will see another part of the world and open myself up to new, unique experiences and ideas. I will learn to love perfect stangers for the simple fact that they exist. I will share a knowledge that has so molded and defined me with others who need it, and experience the joy that only sharing something so sacred brings. My family, who have blessed me in so many ways, will in turn be blessed for my service. Despite all the doubts and fears thrown my way, I know that this is something I need. Everything I'm leaving behind, all the sacrifices I'll be required to make, will be for my good.
So I begin this summer with gratitude, and excitement, and that strange feeling you get when you know you're doing something for the last time, when you feel the significance of every thing and every person around you. You cherish everything so much more, and there seems to be so little time. The summer will pass so quickly, but I know it will be a good one.
2 comments:
Wow Holly, So much in one post.. I have read Rebecca three times to fully enjoy it ... I also liked Summer of Monkeys and I was a lifeguard! I felt the responsibility of which you so eloquently speak. It can be fun too. You would of thought the summer when you worked at the zoo might have been the Summer of Monkeys.....:)
When your Mom told me of your desire to serve a mission I was so thrilled for you and for the people you will serve --you will be a great missionary wherever you go. And you are so right in the things you look forward to gaining- that can only be gained so quickly, while in full time service to the Lord. Those letters (emails) you exchange w/ your family will be a blessing in so many ways -you can hardly imagine... With that said I am so excited for you and your new adventures now and in the not so distant future:)
:)
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