Myself and I (5 page)

“Neither am I.” Maya chuckled. “How would you like to sit around the community swimming pool all day and make some decent money?” Maya grinned like the cat who ate the canary.

“Swimming pool?” I asked, wondering where she was going with her question.

“Yes. My mother knows the head of the park district. There are two slots available for lifeguards. We can take the training course right here at school. It doesn't take long, and once we get our certifications we'll automatically get the jobs, or at least an opportunity to interview for them.”

“I'm not about to go and be a lifeguard. I can't get my hair in the pool every day. That's just too much maintenance with the blow-dryer.” I looked at Maya as if she'd lost her ever-loving mind.

“What are you talking about?” Maya asked, honestly perplexed by my reaction.

“Black women, their hair and water don't mix, Maya. If our hair gets wet it will turn nappy. Even if we sweat, it's a problem. That's the very reason why you don't see black women on an Olympic swim team, white-water rafting or any sport that has to do with water. Hell, it's even a challenge for us when it rains.”

“Well, you swim in gym class all the time,” Maya pointed out.

“That's because I have to and trust me, I do everything humanly possible to keep my hair from getting wet.”

“Well, just do the same thing while you're taking the certification course,” Maya reasoned.

“Maya, it takes a lot of work,” I complained.

“I'll help you. It can't be all that bad.”

“Girl, you don't understand the issues with my hair,” I huffed. “I don't know why God gave all the other women on the planet water-resistant hair except for black women. There has to be a reason behind that decision.”

“Look, maybe I'm just totally stupid when it comes to this, but there are black women in the WNBA. They run up and down the basketball court all night and I'm sure they sweat and their hair looks fine to me. And what about Venus and Serena Williams? They sweat and their hair looks fine.”

“A lot of those women wear braids,” I answered, slightly annoyed by the way she was getting around my excuses.

“Then have your daddy pay to get your hair braided. Come on, Keysha. This is a great chance to make some money to go back-to-school shopping with. Just think about how fly we'll look in the fall when we return for our senior year.” I was about to come up with another defense but paused when the idea of buying my own clothes with my own money began to sound appealing. I suddenly saw a flash of myself in all of the hottest fashions. My hair was on point, my makeup was flawless, and I had on so much bling that I had to put on sunglasses.

“Is swimming a good way to stay in shape?” I asked as
the fantasy of flaunting a hot body like Ciara or Shakira around boys appealed to me.

“Of course it is, Keysha,” Maya assured me.

“When does the training course start?” I asked.

“This coming Saturday. I have all the information in my backpack. I even grabbed you an application. We can sit in your backyard and take a look at everything,” Maya explained.

“Okay,” I said, liking the thought of hanging out with her at my house.

Maya leaned toward me. “Trust me, it will be a blast. We'll get to wear bikinis and work on our suntans,” Maya said.

“That's another thing. Black folks generally avoid the sun,” I said, finding another reason to not make a commitment to do the swim training.

“Well, that's a silly rule. Where do these rules come from anyway? Is there like a book of black-people rules floating around somewhere, because my father has never mentioned any of them to me,” Maya asked, trying to understand why I was being so difficult.

“No. It's just sort of passed down from generation to generation,” I admitted.

“Why is that?” Maya asked.

“To be honest, I don't know. I'll have to ask my grandmother Katie about it. She'd know,” I said.

“Well, when you find out the answer, let me know.” Maya twisted her lips a little as we turned and walked up my driveway.

Spring
had definitely arrived, because the sun was beaming brightly and it was fairly warm and breezy. Maya and I walked onto the patio to relax. She brushed off a few leaves and small twigs that had landed on one of the seat cushions of the patio furniture. She placed her book bag on the wooden table and unzipped it.

“We're going to have so much fun this summer,” Maya said, beaming with certainty. “My mom was a lifeguard when she was my age and she says that it was one of the best jobs she'd ever had because she walked in the door in a supervisory position. For the most part she was her own boss, and get this… She said she spent a lot of time lounging around reading books. When she mentioned it, I immediately thought about you, Keysha, because I know how much you love to read. Just think of how cool it's going to be sitting around reading books and getting paid for it.”

“That does sound better than what I'd planned on doing
with my time this summer,” I admitted. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, what do you have?” Maya asked.

“Well, if Mike hasn't drunk it all we should still have plenty of Kool-Aid. Barbara made some yesterday and hooked it up by throwing some sliced lemons in the mix.”

“That works for me,” Maya said. I told her to sit tight while I ran inside. When I opened the refrigerator, I was glad to see the glass pitcher of Kool-Aid was practically full. “Mike must've overlooked it,” I said aloud. I grabbed the pitcher and removed two glasses from the cupboard. I placed a few ice cubes in each glass, then grabbed one of the trays from a separate cabinet. I placed everything on the tray and walked back outside. I couldn't believe I'd allowed Maya to talk me into taking a lifeguard-certification class. After reading what was required, I freaked out.

“Maya, how am I supposed to learn all of this stuff? What in the world is
active and passive drowning victim rear rescue?
And what in the world is
front and rear head-hold escape?
I don't know, girl, this stuff sounds too complicated.”

Maya held up the palms of her hands. “Keysha, relax. It's not as difficult as it sounds, at least I don't believe it is. I think it's just a fancy name for a really simple maneuver,” Maya tried to assure me.

“How do you know? I mean, I've never seen you do any of this stuff, and you've certainly never talked about it.”

“Okay, I'll admit some of this stuff is new to me as well, especially all the first-aid stuff that we're going to learn, but I'm
willing to give it a shot,” Maya admitted as she removed a pen from her bag and began filling out some of the paperwork.

“Maybe you should just work there and I can come hang out on the days that you work,” I said, completely convinced that I'd never be able to do any of the stuff listed on the sheet, even though I'd never heard of it or tried it.

“Keysha, stop being such a baby and try something different for once in your life. I mean, honestly, how could you not want to try it?”

“Because it sounds like hard work and I don't want to do anything that's difficult. I just want to chill over the summer.” I took a sip of my drink as I leaned back in my seat.

“I'll make you a deal,” Maya said.

“A deal? There is no deal that needs to be made. Besides, why are you trying so hard to get me to do this?” I questioned her motive as a horrific image entered my head. My hair would look like a wet and tangled mess if I were to spend an unnecessary amount of time swimming.

“Because I don't want to do this alone, okay? You're my best friend, and this is the sort of thing that friends do with each other. Come on, Keysha, it's not like I'm asking you to go shoplifting like that girl Toya from your old neighborhood did.”

I grumbled at the memory of that episode in my life. I was happy that Toya Taylor and all of her drama were now chapters in my past.

“Look, you guys have that huge swimming pool back
there.” Maya pointed in the direction of the pool. “Whatever we don't learn in class we can practice here. I truly believe you're making this out to be more difficult than what it is. Besides, if my mother thinks that I can handle it, I'm sure the entire process will be a breeze. Just think about all of the fun stuff we'll be able to do with our own money. This is such a no-brainer, Keysha.” Maya seemed to be searching exceptionally hard to find the right words to convince me to go along with her, but I was like a jackass sitting in the middle of the road.

I shook my head no. “Maya, black girls just don't get into swimming,” I said, deciding that my urban background and cultural history would be the ultimate and final authority on the subject. “You're half Hispanic and you certainly have a nicer grade of hair that won't get nappy if it gets wet. I don't expect you to understand my issue.” Maya stared at me as if I were a complete stranger. I couldn't tell if she was insulted about what I'd just said or if she was going to continue trying to make me believe a summer job as a lifeguard was worth me walking around every day looking like a cat with matted hair.

“You didn't have to go there, Keysha,” she said. I placed my left hand over my mouth because I immediately realized that I'd inadvertently hurt her feelings.

“What?” I asked, choosing my words more carefully.

“Just forget it,” she mumbled, gathering up the information, stuffing it back into her duffel bag and rising to her feet.

“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly feeling awful.

“I'm going home,” Maya said.

“Why are you leaving?” I asked.

“Because I don't want to be around you anymore right now.” Maya slung her bag over her shoulder and began walking away.

“Maya, I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. It's a cultural fact that black folks don't swim. You can't be mad at me for telling you the truth,” I said, getting up to follow her.

“Whatever, Keysha!” Maya continued walking without turning back to say goodbye.

 

I stood still for a moment, truly stunned by her reaction. I didn't know if I should go after her or just wait until later when she'd had time to cool off. I walked back over to the table, sat down and gulped some of the Kool-Aid. Before long I heard Mike shouting out my name.

“Keysha!” he hollered out as he walked down the driveway toward me.

“What?” I fired back.

“Why didn't you pick up the boxes sitting at the front door?” he asked.

“I didn't notice any boxes,” I said, standing to see what he was referring to.

“Here,” he said, handing me a small brown package addressed to me. I looked at it, wondering who'd sent it.

“Grandmother Katie sent each of us one,” Mike said as he opened his up.

“Oh, cool,” I said. Mike removed a new video game for his PlayStation.

“Why is she sending us gifts?” I asked, totally not expecting one.

“She does it because she wants to,” Mike informed me. “Open yours. I want to know what you got.” Without delay I ripped open my package and saw that she'd purchased me a small webcam for my computer.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” It wasn't something I'd asked for or wanted.

“If you don't want it, I'll take it.” Mike extended his hand and waited for me to give it to him.

“No. It belongs to me. I'm going to go give her a call and thank her for it,” I said, putting the gift back in the box.

“Well, I'm going to play my game.” He noticed the pitcher of Kool-Aid on the table. “Are you done with this?” Before I could answer he lifted the pitcher to his lips and began sloshing it down.

“Gross. What if I'd wanted some more of that?” I asked, very irritated with him.

“I guess you'd have to make some more.” He laughed as he walked away while continuing to guzzle every last drop.

Why do boys only think of themselves?
I wondered as I went inside and up to my bedroom.

I followed
the simple installation instructions for the webcam and in no time flat I had it hooked up. I then phoned Grandmother Katie to thank her for the gift.

“Hello?” said Grandmother Katie as she answered the phone.

“Hey,” I said, smiling at the sound of her voice.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“It's me, Keysha.” I was a little bewildered by the fact that she didn't know who I was.

“Oh, I'm sorry, honey, I didn't catch your voice,” she admitted. “How did your prom go?”

“Ugh, let's not talk about that right now,” I pleaded.

“Did something bad happen?” She pressed the issue anyway.

“It depends on how you look at it. I did not have a perfect evening, but I did learn that boys will lie through their teeth.”

“Well, not all of them, honey,” Grandmother Katie said.

“I'll give you all of the details on that later. I was calling you to say thank-you for the gift.”

“Oh, you got the webcam I sent to you. It wasn't damaged, was it?” she asked.

“No, not at all. In fact I've already installed it and it's working well, but why did you get this?” I asked.

“Well, I got a new computer that has a built-in webcam and I thought it would be fun to do video calls with you. I even went and got myself an account on Skype.”

“Who told you about Skype?” I asked jokingly.

“Oprah did. Sometimes she has shows and her guests use it.”

“Oh. I don't watch Oprah. I like Tyra Banks and Wendy Williams,” I said as I scratched the side of my head and flaked up some dandruff. “It's time for me to head back to the beauty shop.”

“Already? You must've sweated out every curl on your head dancing around at prom.” Grandmother Katie laughed.

“Not exactly.”

“Are you at your computer?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah, I am,” I said.

“Good, so am I. Why don't you take a moment to get a Skype account and make me your friend so we can do a video chat?”

“I'm tripping out on the fact that you have a Skype account,” I said with a smile spread across my face.

“Well, you know me. I like being hip,” she said. I wanted to tell her that no one uses the word
hip
anymore, but I decided to just let her have her moment.

In no time at all, I created an account, made Grandmother Katie my friend and was sitting in front of my computer looking at her on my screen. She had the ability to smile with her eyes, which had a way of saying welcome without actually speaking the words. Her skin was a flawless shade of cinnamon brown and her hair seemed to be turning more silver with each passing day.

“Hey, Keysha. I can see you,” she said.

“Do you have a microphone for your computer?” I asked.

“Yup. It's built-in.”

“Hang on, let me run into Mike's room and get his headset. I'll talk to you using it,” I said as I hung up the phone before getting up and walking down the hallway to Mike's room. I asked him if I could borrow his headset.

“Yeah, I don't care,” he replied, refusing to turn his attention away from his new video game, which appeared to be some type of advanced war competition. When I returned to my computer, Grandmother Katie had moved away from the screen. I sat down and waited for her to return.

“There you are,” I said when she'd finally returned.

“Sorry about that. I had to open the back door and let Smokey out in the yard.”

“How is that dog doing, anyway?” I asked.

“Smokey is fine,” she informed me. “When I took him out for walk in the park yesterday he decided that he wanted to go for a swim and rushed off and ran directly into the pond. He loves going for a swim.”

“Do you know how to swim?” I asked.

“Well, I don't consider myself to be a strong swimmer at my age, but I do know how. I used to swim all the time when I was a kid. Jordan and Mike are much stronger swimmers.”

“What about Barbara? Can she swim?”

“I've seen her swim at the house before, and from what I can tell she seems to do okay. She likes to swim around with her head above water. Kind of like Smokey does. Why are you asking?”

“Because I was trying to explain to my girlfriend that black people don't swim. I mean, I heard my other grandmother, Rubylee, once say that black people aren't good swimmers because we have thick bones and we tend to sink instead of float. Anyway, my girlfriend Maya is trying to get me to take a lifeguard-certification class with her and is mad because I told her I don't want to walk around looking like a runaway slave about the head.” Grandmother Katie sighed, and I felt as if I'd said the wrong thing.

“Well, am I right or wrong about this?” I asked.

“Your grandfather would say you're horribly misinformed,” Grandmother Katie answered.

“Misinformed?” I said, wondering what in the world she meant by that.

“People of African descent are excellent swimmers, Keysha. It is true that most African-Americans do not connect with swimming. But black people have an amazingly rich swimming history that dates back to pre-slavery days.”

“Huh? You've got to be kidding me,” I said, utterly dumbfounded. I knew there was some lesson she was about to teach, so I listened.

“I really wish you could've known your grandfather. He could have taught you so many things.”

“I'm sure he could've, but do you remember what he said about black folks swimming?”

“Sure, I can give you some interesting historical facts, but it will be up to you to do any additional research. Before the slave trade began, Africans living in coastal communities were known to be excellent swimmers by European explorers. In the year 1804, a party of about fifty men lead by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark set out to explore America. Mr. Lewis had a childhood companion and slave with him named York. York was noted as being the best swimmer of the entire group.” Grandmother Katie paused before continuing on. “Okay. You've heard of the Underground Railroad, right?”

“Yeah, I know about that, but I've never heard of some dude named York.”

“After we're done here, I think I'll put together some historical information that you might enjoy reading. Anyway, do you know where the name ‘Underground Railroad' comes from?” she asked

“I have no idea,” I admitted. I'd never thought about why they called it the Underground Railroad.

“A black swimmer is where it comes from.”

“A black swimmer? There were no black swimmers during slavery,” I said, completely certain that I was correct.

“Oh yes, there were. The Underground Railroad got its name when a slave named Tice Davids escaped from Kentucky in 1831 and swam across the Ohio River to freedom in Ripley, Ohio. According to legend, Davids's owner was chasing Davids in a boat when he lost sight of his swimming slave. Thinking Davids must have drowned, he remarked to his companions with a sarcastic smirk that his slave must have taken an ‘underground railroad.' The comment was reported in the press, and the term has been with us ever since.”

“Really?” I asked, totally amazed by this news. “I've never learned that in school.”

“Well, don't feel bad, love. A lot of people don't learn the truth until they're in college taking an African-American studies course.”

“But that's just only two examples that happened two centuries ago.”

“Hang on, I'm not finished. Marcus Garvey, a West Indian revolutionist, and Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion of the world, were both excellent swimmers. In the early twentieth century, the popularity of swimming grew. Public swimming pools started springing up all over the place, but they were mostly for whites only, and society purposely excluded black people from using the facilities.”

“Where were they building the swimming pools?” I asked.

“All over, even in Chicago,” Grandmother Katie said.

“Hmm,” I said, because I'd lived in Chicago all of my life and couldn't think of a single place where I'd seen a swimming pool.

“You sound as if you doubt what I'm telling you, Keysha.” Grandmother Katie picked up on the uncertainty in my voice.

“I believe you,” I said.

“Just because you were never taken to a place where there was a pool doesn't mean that they weren't there. Have you ever heard of Andrew Young?”

“Nope. I can't say that I have.”

“You've heard of Martin Luther King, Jr., right?” Grandmother Katie asked sarcastically.

“Of course I've heard of him.”

“Well, Andrew Young was one of his top advisers and was on the swim team at Howard University back in the 1950s. Dr. King was also a very good swimmer. What you have to understand, Keysha, is that slave owners feared that slaves would escape by swimming to freedom. So what they did was create stories about creatures in the water and even disciplined slaves by sticking their heads underwater until they nearly drowned to death so that they would fear swimming. This physiological mind game worked. Even after slavery, segregationists didn't want black people swimming in their pools, so they created bogus studies that claimed that black people couldn't swim because their bones were too big. Even though this was completely untrue, many people within the black community began to believe this. And if
I'm not mistaken, blacks are two to three times more likely to die in drowning incidents, because they've never learned how to swim.

“Even though today there are greater opportunities for people of color to learn, remnants of slave-owner mentality still plague our community. Black folks have even gotten to the point where they find excuses for not learning how by saying they don't want to get their hair wet or the pool water will damage their skin. The really sad thing about not learning this life skill is that black folks miss out on job opportunities. Many who don't learn lose employment opportunities and promotions and are denied opportunities for jobs that require strong swim skills in areas such as law enforcement, firefighting or marine biology. On top of all that, arms of the military check out recruits' swim skills at the boot-camp level, and who do you think fails the basic swim test most?”

“Black folks,” I answered.

“You got it, kiddo.”

“Okay, even with all of what you just said, why is it that I've never heard of a black man or woman swimming on an Olympic team? Why don't we have a black Michael Phelps?” I asked.

“I think swimming has long been considered a country-club sport like golf and tennis. Just think about it—Venus and Serena Williams recently shocked the world with their tennis skills, although there were black tennis players who came along before them, like Althea Gibson and Arthur
Ashe. Tiger Woods is certainly a new phenomenon in the world of golf. I think that swimming will continue to be a new frontier for black folks until the sport produces, as you said, a black Michael Phelps.”

“So, what you're really saying is that the way I feel about swimming stems from slavery?” I asked just to be sure.

“In so many words, yes.”

“Why do I suddenly feel dumb?”

“You're not dumb, Keysha. Your grandmother Rubylee unknowingly passed on a lie that had been passed on to her. The question you have to think about is this—now that you know the truth, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly.

“Well, I think your friend Maya is a smart girl and is really asking you to develop a skill that has the potential to put you on the path to great career opportunities. And save lives all at the same time.”

“Ugh, I feel really crazy now that you've put it like that. I feel as if I'm being forced to grow up,” I said, slapping the heel of my hand against my forehead.

“Honey, as long as you keep taking oxygen into your lungs, you'll keep growing up.” Grandmother Katie laughed at her own joke. “You're at an age now where the decisions you make can have a crucial impact on the rest of your life. One of my duties as a grandparent is to help steer you in the right direction.” Grandmother Katie positioned her hands as if they were on a steering wheel and simulated the driving movement.

“You're right,” I said.

“Honey, I'm not always right. Well, most of the time I am.” She laughed again at her own joke. “Seriously, though, it's your life, Keysha, and only you can live it. I just want you to recognize and consider thoroughly any and all opportunities or blessings that come your way. When you're unsure about something, do some research on it. That's what the library and bookstores are for. Heck, you have your own computer, child. You have the ability to find information at your fingertips. Having your own computer in and of itself is a blessing.”

“Yeah, that's true. Sometimes I forget that I can use the computer for stuff other than playing games or sitting in chat rooms with my friends.” I glanced over my shoulder because I thought I'd heard Mike coming. I didn't see him, so I turned my attention back to Grandmother Katie. “I have a ton of homework to do, but I'll call you back when I'm done,” I said as I smiled at her.

“Okay. I'm here if you need me. Love you.” She kissed the tips of two of her fingers and placed them up to the camera.

“I love you too.” I lovingly kissed her back.

Once I logged off my web chat with her, I grabbed my book bag and pulled out two of my textbooks and several folders. I sat back down at my desk and began reviewing my work. I tried to focus, but my mind wouldn't allow it. I felt awful about the way Maya had stormed off, and I wanted to clear the air between us. I was about to pick up my cell
phone and call her when purely out of curiosity I decided to Google the words “African-American swimmers.” I was totally confident that nothing new or interesting outside of what Grandmother Katie had mentioned about black swimmers would come up. The first thing that popped up was an article written in April 2008 about two black female swimmers, one named Blair Cross and the other Brielle White. That shocked the hell out of me, so I clicked the link and read their fascinating stories. They both said that people were amazed that they were black and could swim let alone swim competitively. They also talked about the importance of being role models for young black children.