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Description
On long hot days when the heat seemed to radiate off of every surface, my favorite childhood activity was to swim. Nothing could ever replace that feeling of weightlessness and serenity that washed over me every time I dove in. Nothing could ever replace the hours of enjoyment and the mornings of pure joy that came with knowing that that day, I’d be swimming in the pool.
Like every pool, mine had a history. The pool started as a wild dream in the mind of my father. In 1995, he started working on an addition for the house. With that, he planned to add on a gorgeous wooden deck with an above ground pool. For some time, it seemed far fetched, but my mother was persistent in the matter. With the help of my grandpa and my uncle Salvatore, visiting from New York, a deck was built. My dad spent a long time evening the ground where the pool was to be installed. However, one day, a rock the size of a bathtub was discovered. Phone calls were made and once again, my grandpa and this time my uncle Bill came over to assist. With many grunts and snarls of frustration, the near 500 pound rock was removed (this was quite an ordeal considering that no machines were used to accomplish the task). The ground was now ready for the installation.
I don’t remember the pool being installed; however, I do remember the first time we filled the glorious giant bowl with water. The water level slowly rose as the green rubber hose spewed gushing cold water into the empty shell. Once the water level reached the rim, it was a start to a beautiful relationship.
My best friend Ashley who I had met in 4th grade at the bus stop, loved to swim. Every day during the summer, she’d call and ask to come over. Minutes after my parents agreed that she was welcome, she would arrive at my front door with goggles, a towel, and sunscreen in hand. We would start by dunking our toes slightly in the cool water before jumping in unperturbed.
For hours, we would play: Marco Polo, water freeze tag, dunking contests, making whirlpools. We would build floating towers of inner tubes and jump on them. Whoever successfully jumped without falling in the water was the winner. Even without toys, we could swim for days it seemed.
Many times, Ashley and I were called from our bliss, having swum far into the night. Our fingers and toes, having absorbed as much water as possible, would be white and wrinkled. On some days, the sunburn I had received would be so great that I could hardly stand to sleep. But, it was all in the name of fun, and no sunburn could keep me away from the sloshing water of the pool.
Now, my family and I live in a new house, one without a pool. Surely, it is the biggest tragedy to not have the comfort of the soothing water on a hot day or the anticipation of the first swim of the summer. When we moved, I left a part of me behind—a little girl, longing for fun and water, dressed in a bathing suit.

Description
On long hot days when the heat seemed to radiate off of every surface, my favorite childhood activity was to swim. Nothing could ever replace that feeling of weightlessness and serenity that washed over me every time I dove in. Nothing could ever replace the hours of enjoyment and the mornings of pure joy that came with knowing that that day, I’d be swimming in the pool.
Like every pool, mine had a history. The pool started as a wild dream in the mind of my father. In 1995, he started working on an addition for the house. With that, he planned to add on a gorgeous wooden deck with an above ground pool. For some time, it seemed far fetched, but my mother was persistent in the matter. With the help of my grandpa and my uncle Salvatore, visiting from New York, a deck was built. My dad spent a long time evening the ground where the pool was to be installed. However, one day, a rock the size of a bathtub was discovered. Phone calls were made and once again, my grandpa and this time my uncle Bill came over to assist. With many grunts and snarls of frustration, the near 500 pound rock was removed (this was quite an ordeal considering that no machines were used to accomplish the task). The ground was now ready for the installation.
I don’t remember the pool being installed; however, I do remember the first time we filled the glorious giant bowl with water. The water level slowly rose as the green rubber hose spewed gushing cold water into the empty shell. Once the water level reached the rim, it was a start to a beautiful relationship.
My best friend Ashley who I had met in 4th grade at the bus stop, loved to swim. Every day during the summer, she’d call and ask to come over. Minutes after my parents agreed that she was welcome, she would arrive at my front door with goggles, a towel, and sunscreen in hand. We would start by dunking our toes slightly in the cool water before jumping in unperturbed.
For hours, we would play: Marco Polo, water freeze tag, dunking contests, making whirlpools. We would build floating towers of inner tubes and jump on them. Whoever successfully jumped without falling in the water was the winner. Even without toys, we could swim for days it seemed.
Many times, Ashley and I were called from our bliss, having swum far into the night. Our fingers and toes, having absorbed as much water as possible, would be white and wrinkled. On some days, the sunburn I had received would be so great that I could hardly stand to sleep. But, it was all in the name of fun, and no sunburn could keep me away from the sloshing water of the pool.
Now, my family and I live in a new house, one without a pool. Surely, it is the biggest tragedy to not have the comfort of the soothing water on a hot day or the anticipation of the first swim of the summer. When we moved, I left a part of me behind—a little girl, longing for fun and water, dressed in a bathing suit.