The Pool I Didn’t Love
May 29, 2026 | My Jottings
The First Separation
“It has a swimming pool!”, they said
Of my father’s new apartment
On Azusa Avenue
I lived to swim
So they thought the buoyancy and the turquoise
Would make up for the black
My dad’s face had a smile
My mom’s encouragement was thin
The blanket that didn’t warm
I was five or six
I swam there once, a kidney-shaped pool
My dad’s spartan apartment on the second floor
I can’t remember much about it
My brother Steve, fifteen or sixteen
Swam once too
Red swim trunks
The water was always what I craved
But the cloud dulled the joy
A brooding dark
A worry
A fear on a little girl’s chest
I should not have been placed there
They should have done anything
And everything
To save us
To save them
Selfishness can kill
Bury
Ruin
I still don’t know why they separated that time
Dad came home after a few months
Hope
Tenuous
Or oblivion on purpose?
I can’t remember
Is this why I ran, ran, ran?
Swung open that screen door
My Schwinn banana seat bike
Taking me somewhere
Hair flying
Bare feet pedaling
Skateboard clacking on the
Traweek sidewalks
Through the halls at Covina High
Until my mom would call at dusk:
“Juuulliieee!!”
She was embarrassed and inward about so much
But not about hollering my name
So every neighbor could hear
I would ride home
Freedom feeling fading
Picky-eat dinner
Wonder if a friend could spend the night
Or if I could go to a friend’s
Especially
To swim
I don’t think parents had any idea in those days how much they were damaging their children. My parents could have written the manual for how not to do divorce and how to screw your children up as much as humanly possible…
But it seems that both you and I survived and lived (relatively) good and happy lives!
Dearest Helen…. yes, I completely agree with you. I also love your perspective. We have survived and done pretty well, and have much to be grateful for. Love to you today, friend across the world! xoxo
it is strange sometimes what we remember as a child. For example I remember the first time I said “platinum”. I distinctly remember. My dad and I were visiting an older lady in her home around the corner from my family home (my brother I was talking about still lives there). We must have been talking about him. He had almost white hair at birth. I proudly said to the woman, my baby brother (6 years younger) has platinum hair. I drive by the house often and in my mind i see me with my father and the older woman like in a tableau, frozen in time.
I love reading about memories like this, Nancy. That word platinum laid down a strong neural pathway for you! We all have them, I think. I remember being shocked when I heard my mom tell someone that my birthday was on “the 4th of September” — I was pretty little, and said, “Wait! You said my birthday was September 4th!” — they sounded so different to me. 🙂 God bless your week, Nancy! So nice of you to stop in….