The +/-300-400 ranch housed 'hood I was reared in (Madison during the '80s) had a neighborhood pool that had been constructed as an optional amenity for the homeowners. There was no homeowners' association to govern this mid-70s' subdivision, yet this pool was fortunately maintained - seasonally - by a group of volunteers - paying utility bills, overseeing upkeep, and distributing pool "membership" keys each summer.
The inground pool was a large rectangle with a slide, diving board serving the 12'-0" deep end. As such, it was more than sufficient to accommodate the Traceland North throngs during the summertime.
There weren't many occasions during my childhood where swimming at night within this pool was encouraged / allowed, but I do vividly recall spending countless mornings / afternoons there. Bob & Darlene always ate dinner fairly early, therefore usually by 5 PM, we'd have vacated the swimming pool for the short drive back home.
Yet, there was one distinct occasion during my childhood where I did find myself at this pool at night, and it was then that I discovered how quickly a comfortable, very familiar setting can be so easily robbed of all its noteworthiness.
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The photo below is from the glossy cover of a 1988 wall calendar I kept "in my secret stash" as a teen. The model shown here (gotta love that mullet!) was featured a handful of times within the publication, but it was this cover photo that mesmerized / captivated young Rob. I nervously purchased this wall calendar at Northpark Mall's Spencer Gifts under the tutelage that I was "needing a gag gift" for one of my imaginary sisters. I can still remember the excitement of removing the plastic wrap once I had it home. And from there, sexual fantasy after sexual fantasy ensued, most of which centered on this guy pursuing me tenderly. The fantasy made me feel safe, loved and important. It was as reliable as daybreak, yet situating itself with great reliability as indwelling sin.
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When I was around the age (11 - 12) of my youngest daughter, Darlene entrusted me to some older neighborhood boys one evening while she and my dad went out. This was during the summer, and the plan was for these teens to keep up with Rob whilst night swimming at the aforementioned neighborhood swimming pool. I was understandably a little anxious about this setup, having never been put into this situation before. These older boys were around the ages of 16 and 19 at the time. They were brothers and both lived with their 'rents on the opposite side (from us) of our 'hood. Though I didn't know them well, I'd agreed to this setup in order to accommodate my parents. Plus, I sort of liked the notion of spending time alone with these older boys at the pool outside the bounds of routine. I remember them as tough, carefree teens whose overconfidence far exceeded my own.
Unfortunately, what happened that evening truly served to turn my love of that venue as well as any semblance of love for myself on its head, and the outcome here had all the more voracity due to Satan's impeccable timing (early adolescence).
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Last week (the week between Christmas and New Year's), we vacationed in Sandestin, FL, renting a condo overlooking the beautiful Gulf. We'd never been there during the winter, yet we were pleasantly surprised at the (unseasonably?) balmy weather and overall smaller crowds. The swimming pools are heated this time of year which helps with the comfort level - particularly if you choose to swim at night. My daughters love swimming, but they especially love ending their vacation days with a swim. For me though, swimming at night has never been an especially enjoyable experience, and up until last week, I wasn't exactly sure why.
Because of the breezy, chilled night air, even fewer resort vacationers joined us in the water after the sun went down (early). Yet, during our first evening there, two boys did surprisingly appear. I'd taken note of the older of the two (an unusually athletically built 16-year-old) as he slipped into the hot tub a few minutes prior with his younger brother.
After a few minutes of continuing to toss a glow football between my girls, I waded over to these (obviously) brothers and inquired if they'd be interested in joining in the fun. And this set the stage for a very unique, temporary friendship. A friendship that resulted in all of us rendezvousing most nights, within that same hourglass-shaped pool, throughout the time we were there.
You need to know that the boys were from rural Minnesota. As such, having never been to this sprawling seaside resort (much less FL), they truly were fish out of water. We had the best time getting to know and having the privilege of being hospitable to them. Later in the week, I also had the good fortune of meeting their father (poolside), and from there, both of our families agreed to share dinner at a local pizzeria at the conclusion of our time together. It was a blast.
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Through all of this, God tenderly reminded me of the physical assault I experienced as an 11 - 12-year-old boy at my long since compartmentalized Traceland North swimming pool. It was as if he literally walked me back to the horror hand-in-hand as night after night we'd reconvene with our routine there at Sandestin. Observing these MN brothers' masculine character, in such sharp contrast to what I'd experienced as a boy, served as the perfect reformative sauve. For it so clearly demonstrated how much I'd longed to be / understood how I could have been affirmed within that swimming pool setting all those years ago.
The physical assault was a childhood horror that I'd never spoken of to anyone. For in and through that, I'd had impregnated within me the notion of young Rob being defective relative to his masculinity. Hence, from that point forward, I simply refused to face my defective self. Immediately following, I began hiding and turning inward to placate / medicate my trauma. And that's where homosexual fantasy, in many ways, became my "adolescence preserver".
Please know that I cannot underestimate the intense shame I experienced as a result of being treated, by these adolescent guardians, with so little respect. What little masculine dignity I had - at that time - as a very young man, was literally stripped clean that night.
In closing, I'm grateful to have clear direction relative to my work ahead. For 2022 will definitely be a year of focusing on unpacking / wrestling with this notion of childhood me being internally labeled as defect(ive). Combined with all the ramifications therein, I hope to best position the boy inside, going forward, in opposition to that label.
