We called it, simply, The Test. I grew up on a house on Barnegat Bay in Chadwick Beach, New Jersey. With four little children scampering around, my parents had a hard and fast rule for us and our friends: No one was allowed to play in the front yard, on the docks or anywhere outside without wearing a life preserver. Whether we were playing baseball, digging up worms, or going crabbing, those big orange puffy preservers had to be on, and buckled, at all times.
We hated it. The only way to freedom was to pass a test by swimming all the way across the lagoon and back. It was a rite of passage. Those of us who were ready would talk about it for weeks. We'd practice and ask questions of our older siblings. I remember lying in bed the night before, wondering what I'd do if I got tired. Would I drown? Would I have to wait another month before trying again?
I live in the San Francisco Bay Area now, but I come home to Barnegat Bay every summer with my wife and our two kids. It's a highlight of our year. This summer our daughter Olivia was going to take her shot. She'd been practicing at the pool for weeks. My dad, unable to resist the urge to spoil his granddaughter, sweetened the pot with the promise of a bowl of ice cream at the end.
continued at Daily Kos....
