I was a diver for a decade. The summer before I headed into 7th grade, my dad took me to the highschool pool, to check out the swim team. I’d always loved the water… decent swimmer, why not?
Across the way there were kids jumping off the boards and a guy yelling at them. I was transfixed… it looked like fun.
When it came time for swim season for middle school, I signed up. For some reason, I was a day late to practice, everyone knew where to go except me. And almost everybody got in the pool, about 8 kids walked over to the boards. I went with everybody.
Which lasted about two laps in the pool. I got out and told the swim coach I wanted to dive, and went on over. I got in line, and got on the board. The diving coach, this loud hairy man without a shirt on, yelled “WHO ARE YOU??“ I answered. Then I tried to do an approach, and ended up miserably embarrassed.
That was the beginning of a decade… with lots of ups and downs (pun intended). I think my time with Randy, my coach, and my love of the sport was what got me through highschool. College diving left me disillusioned, and I left the sport. Without diving, there was nothing for me at the University of South Dakota, as I was majoring in something that had been decided for me when I was in the second grade ( I know, I know…), so I hit the road. My big ol’ 84 Bronco, long nights driving the country, searching. Along the way, drawing and writing and drawing… The first time I bought myself a sketchbook was when I was 21. And the road keeps going, on and on.
But diving. The love of bodies in the air, bodies taking shape. Still thrills me…
