Marjorie Turner Hollman is an author, creator, and observer who loves the outdoors. Link to all Marjorie’s books.
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I’ve most often been the one who waits for others to jump into any activity before I take the plunge; much more comfortable being a spectator than willing to take the risk of looking silly. But there came a time in high school when I grew bored with this reflexive behavior. This story began as a guest post for Sarah White, published in her blog, True Stories Well-told. Here’s the original article link: http://truestorieswelltold.com/2015/06/16/to-watch-or-to-participate/
The essay is included in My Liturgy of Easy Walks: Reclaiming Hope In a World Turned Upside Down.
I was reminded of this story when I spotted a diving board alongside the Trestle Trail in Coventry, RI as I was pedaling on the back of our adaptive tandem bicycle.
Spectator or Participant First published in “True Stories Well Told,” website. June 15, 2015
In my last year of high school I felt restless. When my friends told me the swim team needed an additional springboard diver to constitute a team for competition, with their encouragement, I “dove” in.
I have an aversion to heights—something happens in my gut when I peer over the edge of a seeming abyss.
After saying “yes” to trying spring board diving, here I was standing on the edge of a diving board, being asked to increase my distance from the water. When I first stood at the end of the 1-meter diving board and was urged, “Jump up,” all I wanted to do was to get down as fast as possible.
Many of my early school years were spent as a spectator. I was always the one to wait, and to let others go first. Now I wanted to see what might happen when I tiptoed into this new experience.
That’s where Mr. Crane came in. The parent of one of my fellow divers, he arrived after work each afternoon in his coat and tie, ready to watch and advise us in our diving efforts. As soon as he stood at the edge of the pool we began taking our turns on the board in earnest.
Among us were two state diving champions, another who came in close to top in the state, a few experienced divers, and me. It didn’t matter—we each got his undivided attention, precise suggestions, and his encouragement to try again.
For an entire year, I headed to the pool each day after school, wriggled into my bathing suit, and hit the water. Learning each new dive felt terrifying, and six different “dives” were required to compete. Mr. Crane metaphorically held my hand as I struggled to learn each of the main dives: back dive, front dive, inward, reverse, half twist, and forward 1½. By the end of the year, I had made it. I could complete these six dives, more or less, with some degree of skill.
One day another coach approached me, asking if I would like to add a few more dives to my list so I could help the team participate in a larger event. “Uh, no, I don’t think so,” was my answer. I’d reached the limit of my short-lived springboard diving career.
When I left for college, people wondered if I would continue to dive. Not a chance. College diving starts with the 3-meter board and moves on up to the 10-meter platform—thirty feet up. This was not my cup of tea at all. But I had learned that I could step out of the crowd, stop being a spectator, and participate.
I later learned that Mr. Crane had never been on a diving board in his life. I had no idea whether he could even swim. It didn’t matter. He paid attention, understood how bodies moved, and was able to teach us. Whether he could dive or not was immaterial. He stood at the pool’s edge in his coat, tie, and business trousers, and described what we each needed to do to be more skillful, and better able to cut a clean line into the water as we dove. And it worked.
I have often looked back on this time, and felt such deep gratitude, not only for those friends who encouraged me to try, but for Mr. Crane, who offered me his attention, regardless of what I might do with it. He was my model for what teaching is about—showing up, being there, offering encouragement, and not worrying about the end result. I have carried these experiences with me throughout many different life circumstances.
Another lesson learned? That, like Mr. Crane, I didn’t always have to go out on a limb or a diving board to be able to help others. With my feet planted firmly on the ground I can let my eyes, my voice, and my heart travel wherever others need me.
Many thanks to Robert (Bobbie) Stones, Jeff Barnett, Kirk Seitz, Annie Kepler, Donnie Crane, and Mr. Crane, who believed in me way back when.
Marjorie
Marjorie Turner Hollman 