20/20 vision (I don't care if you call me 4 eyes)

I've had glasses since 3rd grade. I remember the day I got them as clear as a bell. It was third grade (which probably meant I was 9.) and I was in Mrs. Carel's class. I loved Mrs. Carel. She was young and cool, tall and pretty, athletic and outgoing. She had a laugh that filled up the room and a smile to follow. Everyone wanted her for a teacher. She did such fun things in the class room. It was more like being in an amusement park instead of school. We practiced spelling words in shaving cream on our desks and I think we even used chocolate pudding once... That was amazing.

Anyway, the day I got my glasses...

My appointment was first thing in the morning which meant I was going to be tardy to school. I hated being tardy for any reason. If I was ever tardy I would always come to class having this odd feeling that something great happened minutes before I got there and I missed out on it and all of the kids wouldn't tell me what it was so I was left out. (Sometimes I still feel that way.) It was a terrible feeling.

So I already knew it was going to be a bad day simply because I was tardy. But today, I had the added pressure of my new glasses. This was the kiss of death. It was a long walk to the class room with the slip from the secretary in the office with my excuse. The closer I got to the door, the more the anxiety grew. These things on my face were uncomfortable. They kept slipping down and pinching my nose.

My plan was to get in the classroom as fast as I could and slip into my desk and hopefully not be noticed. I opened the door as quietly as I could, ditched my book bag and coat, and slithered into my desk and put my head down. (Almost as if I was being punished.) As far as I could tell, my plan worked perfectly. I sat there in silence with my face burrowed into my elbow, breathing as quietly as possible. I was victorious! (or so I thought) After what felt like an eternity I picked up my head and looked around to see if anyone saw me come in. My glasses were fogged from my hot breath! Blasted! I could see very little but what I did see was her; she was standing at the front of my desk, hovering, waiting. As I looked up, through my foggy lenses, I saw her big bright smile. I don't know why but immediately I burst into tears and buried my face again. She was so sweet.

She bent down beside me, rubbed my head and whispered, "You look beautiful!"

I cleared the snot from my nose, wiped the tears off my face and looked at her again. "Really?" I whispered.

"Really." She replied. She went on, "Class, Julie has something very special to share with us today. Today, she got her first pair of glasses."

I was mortified but she urged me to stand and show everyone. So I did. With Mrs. Carel standing beside me I could face my peers and show them how beautiful I looked with my new glasses. After all, she said herself that I was beautiful and that meant the world to me. I loved my glasses from then on. (Which only lasted until I was 11. From then on it was contact lenses.) And to my recollection I don't know that anyone ever called me four eyes. I don't know that it never happened but I think because of Mrs. Carel's reassurance of my beauty that day, I never even noticed any insults from my peers.

And today I wanted to face another childhood memory head on; swimming in a public pool in a bathing suit. To any fat child this is hell, drenched in water. Oh the agony of having to strip down and put on a bathing suit that showed ALL of your lumps and bumps! And then have all of your peers get to see you and possibly mock and make fun of you? It makes me want to puke just thinking about it! And in my school district every child had to do it, period end of story.

So this morning I woke up and wondered, "what should I do today?" and after a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee it came to me clear as day, today I was going to swim.

When I was young I LOVED to swim but only felt completely free to do it at my own home or at a trusted friend's house. I was so excited when we had a pool put in our back yard. If I remember right that was the summer going into sixth grade and I wanted to have all of my friends over for a pool party to celebrate on the last day of school. It was the funnest day I can remember. I spent the entire summer in that pool with my sister or the neighborhood kids. Honestly, I don't think there wasn't a day that I wasn't in that pool. I felt at home in the water. When I was in there, I was weightless and graceful. I could do hand stands underwater (Lord knows that would never happen on the ground.), make up beautiful ballet moves, and float on my back with all the sounds around me canceled out. It was peaceful, and my place to escape.

Through life circumstances we moved out of the house with the pool. My days of swimming freely, at home, where over.

As I got older the, more I started to hate my body. By the time I was 13, the idea of getting in a bathing suit was a joke. I laughed when my friends would suggest a birthday party at the city pool, as if I was too cool for that. Secretly, I longed to be weightless and graceful again. Once or twice I might have put on a pair of shorts and tank top and slip into some water somewhere. It was never the same though. I hated the fact that I was fat: the grace and weightlessness where gone.

But today was a day to reclaim that love and dream of mine. I announced my intentions on the Internet as a safety net so I couldn't talk myself out of it. I checked the schedule at the YMCA and then was off to buy a suit to swim in.

When I got to the locker room at the Y and smelled the chlorine, the terror set in. As I looked around I saw all kinds of bodies of varying shapes, sizes, and colors. Some where old and flabby, and others where young and taut. I didn't dare stare because I didn't want anyone else to possibly feel insecure by my looking at them. I decided to keep my eyes to the floor. While changing into my suit was a lot of positive self talking and very little looking at myself in the mirror. I didn't want to see what I was sure everyone else could and did see, my round squishy body with lumps and bumps for all to see.

The plan was to leave my contacts in and wear goggles but man, those things hurt my face! They suctioned to me and didn't want to let go. No goggles. They had to go. So the contacts came out which meant everything from there on out was going to be a big blur. I wasn't too excited about that but I didn't want to turn back now.

Bathing suit on, contacts out, hair in a pony tail, towel covering me up. Deep breaths. I was ready for this. However, I didn't anticipate that I was going to have to drop my towel pool side and slither into the water. That was the hardest thing I had to do. But I did it. And the only way I did it was because I couldn't see if the other swimmers in the water were watching or not. There were just too fuzzy. I could sort of tell if their head was turned in my general direction but I had no idea what their eyes were on. The only person I knew was looking at me was the lifeguard. I can't blame her, it's her job to make sure we are safe.

It was like heaven. I swam for over an hour. Breast stroke, back stroke, butterfly... it all came right back to me. I did underwater handstands, kicked and moved my body in ways that I had long since forgotten. I was weightless and graceful again.

As I was changing in the locker room I decided that people are not watching me as closely as I think they are. Mostly when they look they aren't seeing me with 20/20 vision of judgement like I assumed. Everyone is too busy wrapping themselves in a towel, hoping their lumps and bumps won't be seen by the rest of us. So I stepped back from the mirror, still with no contacts, and looked at the girl with the squishy body. I think I finally got it. I was the only one looking at myself with 20/20 vision of judgement and criticism, shame and disgust.

And in that moment tears came. Not tears of sorrow or sadness, but tears of love and acceptance of my own self. Tears that whispered, "You look beautiful." and a heart that finally agreed.