The Deep End of the Pool
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The Deep End of The Pool
John Paul Derryberry
I have watched the video, of the man screaming at the manager whose employees spoke Spanish in front of him, about ten times. My heart breaks a little bit more every time. It's been recorded here that I used to treat some people in my life that way, but I cannot imagine treating anyone that way now. My lousy behavior was never racist, but I have treated people as if they were beneath me. My thoughts, as I watched the viral clip over and over again, went to the loser whose anger seemed so pointed at people he could not communicate with. And yes, I called him a loser, any racist is, but that doesn't mean he has to stay a loser. Again, I was never a racist, but I am a reformed loser. What happened to this man that he must cover his weaknesses with a visible superiority complex? Maybe you ask, why should we care about his story in the video? We cannot be dismissive of people who behave badly because we risk becoming them. We must understand why he thinks this way, while simultaneously loudly confronting and condemning his racist actions every time. EVERY TIME WITH ACTION!
Next, I thought of the confusion and fear we had around the deep end of the swimming pool when we were younger. I was terrified of ever entering the deep end. How would I survive? What was in the unknown parts I could not see? My dad ended up tossing me in the deep end one time, and I learned to calm my nerves and realize that while it was a dangerous place, I could navigate it. I think that's what happens to racists and people who think homelessness, poverty, and mental health problems are contagious. It's the deep end of the pool for them. They are scared they cannot navigate it. (What if they are making fun of me in their language?) They are afraid they won't have control. (What if enough people from their home country come here and I'm no longer in power?) Lastly, they are worried they will drown gasping for air. (What if I truly don't matter anymore?)
It's a scary thought, being placed in a situation which you do not know how to access. The natural thing to do is to operate out of fear and run from it, make fun of it, and demoralize it, by calling them "animals". I have been placed in these situations time and time again as a social worker. I never thought that I would have forged a connection with someone who was sexually abused and who happened to be threatening to kill people by swinging a two-by-four at anyone came near them. I never thought that I would have to assist in calming down a non-verbal person running toward traffic. It never crossed my mind that I would serve a refugee family that didn't speak English. All these situations bring up fear. It is like I being six years old again, starring at the deep end of the pool and thinking no f'ing way am I jumping in.
The thing about that type of fear and the deep end of the pool is that it's 95% in our head. Once I gathered myself after my dad tossed me in, I realized didn't die. I started to have the fun there is to be had in conquering our fears. Next thing I knew, I was doing pencil dives off the diving board to touch the bottom. Even today, there are few things more enjoyable in life than yelling, "cannonball" as you jump into a pool. My fear didn't subside; I'm still afraid of drowning. But I boldly carry that fear into the unknown with a smile on my face.
You see, that person swinging the two-by-four taught me a lot about resiliency. That person who was running toward traffic taught me a lot about staying connected to family. And the family who didn't speak English showed me there are so many ways besides words to land on common ground. Over and over again, people have taught me how to swim in the deep end of life and have fun. They swim a little differently than I would, but everyone's heads are still above water. Even though from time to time, it's a bit scary and a lot of the time we feel that we have no clue what we're doing, just channel your 8-year self, scream "cannonball" and jump on in. The water is absolutely perfect.