A Truly Terrific Toddler Tale

I know there will be some that believe a child of tender age could not possibly have an authentic experience.

That one so young is unlikely to identify with a previous conscious state of mind; then resonate stronger with another state more harmonious after an encounter, align, and remember. But I am living breathing proof that it can happen.

I’m not writing to convince anyone, just to tell my story.

It is the earliest memory I have. A precious pearl beyond the value and reach of any being, buried deep…well…in the ocean after all.

The sixties. Such a beautiful time and place to draw breath. Before information technology encroachment, climate change, and mass hysteria transformed life, I lived in the close-knit community of Pembroke Park, in Pembroke Parish. Its proximity to the ocean requires context. No one in Bermuda lives more than walking distance from the sea.

What may not lend credence to this memory is having no awareness of time before or after, just the ‘during.’ And of that ‘during’, I am as certain as certain can be.

My Dad took me and my brother swimming.

I was born 16 months after my brother; however, this is the only time in my memory that we were the same height. I towered over him in primary school and just kept growing.

Strong 'Daddy genes.'

The sea on the northern side of the island lent itself to a more rocky terrain as opposed to the south shore where the majority (but not all)

of the beaches were. Probably closest to our home at the time, was an accessible inland shore dotted with small flat rock reefs that my 6-foot-tall father could stand in but we could not.

As cliché as it sounds, the day was warm and sunny—perfect for swimming I reckon—as I was unaware of ever swimming before. Where Mom was, I cannot say. Only we three were in the water.

The first soothing feel of saltwater on my skin that I experienced was pure ecstasy. Pared down to my undies. Free breezes on little brown legs and arms. Sky blue above and sea blue beneath and in. Dad carrying me like royalty, swimming on his back. He cut through the water with such effortlessness as I clung secure, hands clasped around his neck. No armbands. No fear. Exuberant in complete and total joy. The crystal-clear parting ocean surging past me with gurgle and swish for the first time. My very own surprise dolphin ride before recognition of what dolphins were.

And then he swam back. Placed me on the reef where my brother stood waiting. On to my Dad’s back, my brother jumped, and off they went. The two of them never left my field of view. So how far would that have been, if as the saying goes, I was standing knee-high to a grasshopper? A couple of swimming strokes at least.

My brother and I each in turns. For how many, I couldn’t say. At that age, you don’t necessarily count the moments, just frolic them. But after an undetermined period, Daddy stood both of us on that reef with strict instructions to stay put while he swam a few strokes alone. But my experience with the ocean transformed me. Awakened a stirring and truth within that would not be stifled as salty water filled my veins. My union to ocean complete, I knew I could swim.

As Dad executed his first stroke, I proclaimed loudly, “I can swim! I can swim!” and dove in after him.

I sank beneath the waves in a glorious cocoon of warm bubbles all around. It felt euphoric! Every part of me caressed by ocean-rimmed tiny spheres and no separation between us. A unique sensation I remember being cut short quickly as I was, in fact, actively drowning.

My Dad managed to grab me by my ankle. He held me aloft upside down above the ocean I had just fallen in love with, throwing up untold amounts of seawater. That was the only part of the saga that felt a little uncomfortable. But to be fair, hurling isn’t exactly a great feeling no matter where or how old you are, or what you're throwing up.

I don’t have any memory immediately after that. Just being free to roam the neighborhood around my house in complete safety as children were wont to do back then, and a now unbreakable bond with the ocean.

Reflecting back in later years, I know it must have scared the bejeezus out of my father, having to flex his Daddy reflexes in an instant. I somehow knew that it didn’t get mentioned to Mommy or he might have had the remaining bejeezus shrieked out of him.

“YOU LEFT OUR BABIES STANDING ON A REEF ALONE WHILE YOU WENT OFF FOR A SWIM???!!!”

Many decades later when I recounted this story to a close friend, she told me, “That was your true birth.”

Dad had indeed pulled me out of an ocean womb.

I never developed a fear of the water. Never did and never will. I recognized my earliest life beginnings being held by my ankle over water because prior to being in the sea that day, I held no conscious awareness though yet a sentient being.

In my early thirties, I mentioned this tale to Dad in some context of our conversation at the time. He appeared visibly stunned.

“You remember that???” he asked.

“Yeah, I remember I was two,” I said, feeling sure of my age at that time.

But Dad said, “You were younger than two.”

Doing the math and piecing things together later, I realized he was right. My brother was barely a toddler of three years.

Now it was my turn to be stunned.

All my growing years included looking at or being in or on the ocean. The ocean became a teacher. Mid-afternoon to late-night beach get-togethers alongside family and friends or camping with a Girl Guide troop (US Girl Scout equivalent) on one of the smaller islands. Solitary treks to the south shore for the day, always returning a shade darker. Sailing with Pa or Daddy in the Great Sound. Fishing off the rocks or out in someone’s cabin cruiser. Watching storm surge from hurricanes batter rocky shorelines.

Peaceful moonrises on the horizon beneath stars.

First dips of the year on the May 24th holiday. Mask and snorkel-ing it in a slow-motion, magical undersea world. From this, I captured my identity and temperament. The source of my courage. A quiet vast spirit with an immense deep power not to be misused. A mirrored calm of the sea, glass smooth. Or volatility erupting from nowhere; a sudden squall crushing resistance to smithereens.

I embodied treasures held in mystery and carefree spaces in summer's sun. I yearned to encircle and enchant. Uplift and uphold. Let the moon control my tides.

No small wonder my zodiac sign is Cancer. The crab, never too far from the shore.

Well, the neuroscientists can have a field day debating the probabilities of what can be remembered accurately at an early age, authenticity capacities, and all that. Their battle, not mine.

I just wonder how much trouble Dad got in when Mom joined him in the Ancestral Realm and found out.

Oops.

And how much of a tongue-lashing I might get for not telling her myself when sometime in the distant future, I join them.

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