The Amazing Day I Learnt to Swim
There are certain days when we feel our lives change greatly—days we remember for a lifetime. Such, for me, was one morning in July in the Ligonier Valley of Pennsylvania, at a place called Devil's Hole.
On that morning, my twin brother Roger and I had finished our chores, and the whole day lay before us. "Let's go to Devil's Hole," Roger suggested. I readily agreed, but for all my eagerness there was a feeling of restlessness deep in my heart. Although he had never said a word about it and never laughed at me, Roger could swim and I could not. I had been too afraid to try. Now Roger could slip through the water expertly with the experienced, confident older kids.
Roger led the way to the kitchen door. "Grandma, can we go to Devil's Hole?" We leaned against the screen, peering into the dark kitchen. Grandma, busy baking cakes stood at the kitchen counter. "Well, I guess the big kids are up there now, but mind the road and be careful in that place," warned Grandma.
With a yell, Roger pushed open the screen door, dashed through the kitchen and climbed up the stairs. I followed racing to get into my bathing suit. Throwing towels around our necks, we ran across the field next to our house and headed up the dirt road.
Roger and I reached the destination. Sunlight flooded through a break in the trees. A quiet path of smooth stones and mossy ground led to a deep green pool of icy water reflecting a huge rock on
the opposite bank, partially in the water. The rock was my province and protection. While the others swam, I always pretended to be trying to catch fish along its base with an old tin can.
Roger joined the older boys and girls at once. They excitedly dived in, swam swiftly across the
pool and pulled themselves up on the big rock to feel the sun on the skin, their shouts, splashes and laughter echoing (回响) through the trees.
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I watched with envy and decided to have a try.
I couldn't help shouting, "I can swim!"
