Part one of a two-part story
It’s story time boys and girls.
I know this isn’t much of an article, but hey, I can’t be on the ball all the time and it might just invoke a misty eye or two, but if it doesn’t then you’ve got problems.
Twelve years ago, on what must have been a sunny day turned cloudy, I hesitantly walked into a muggy prison. Humidity filled the air and clung to the skin as if trying to slowly weigh down the entering person with enough moisture and sweat to refuse him passage.
Otherworldly beams exposed and enveloped all who entered with a fluorescent light that raised gooseflesh at the sight of the half-naked, malnourished captives.
The concrete aborigines stood in six single file lines while the warden hypnotically chanted “1-2-3-GO!” At that point, the head of each group stepped forward to receive the consequences of their individual sentences.
In unison, the inmates were paraded off of three-feet high platforms, and into six equally divided sheets of blue. For what seemed like hours, but must have only been seconds, the prisoners remained submerged while a trail of bubbles marked their progress.
Suddenly, the water exploded, and all six swimmers broke the surface at an all-out sprint. Finally, my 7-year-old imagination shook free of the shackles placed there by Captain Hook and his plank-walking victims.
As the cobwebs were being brushed aside, I found myself standing at the entrance to the East Carolina University pool. I stood there clenching my dad’s hand, knowing that he could sense my quiet fear and overwhelming anticipation.
As if understanding the intimidating circumstances that I was surrounded by, a rosy-cheeked man, the former warden, bounded over and introduced himself as John Jolly.
Like all adults to a 7-year-old, John Jolly was just another looming giant.
The one thing ingrained in all small children is that their elders command respect with a small slice of fear, but John was different. I had never met anyone quite like him.
He had a head of thick brown hair, friendly blue eyes and a smile that made me feel like I was a friend rather than the goofy tooth-missing brat I was. He was a playful giant.
After the round of introductions, dad took me aside and reassured me that he would come back in 30 minutes to see if I wanted to stay or go.
I told dad, with my most convincing smile, that I would be fine but would eagerly await his return.
I figured that 30 minutes would be long enough for me to decide that swimming was definitely the wrong pastime for me. I reasoned that any longer would be pushing my luck, because walking the plank was still an extremely risky endeavor.
Dad quietly disappeared while I was milling all of this over and left me to suffer the wrath of John Jolly.
To be continued …

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