It was Aug. 6, 2023, and social media was filled with memes and commentary about a dockside fight that took place in Montgomery, Alabama, the day before. In the definitive video of the event, a group of about six white people began to argue with a Black co-captain who was trying to dock a cruise ship in its reserved space.
Unfortunately for the white people, they attacked the co-captain in full view of a crowd containing lots of Black folk. As bystanders hustled to help, a young Black man dove into the water from an approaching boat. He broke into a fast and steady freestyle swim, pulled himself out of the water, removed one shoe and squared up like he had been training for this moment his whole life.
The scene turned into a full-on melee. Black people laid down destruction (and in one instance, a white folding chair) in an ancestral display of justice and community. I couldn’t stop thinking about the swimmer.
The internet called him “Aquaman.” The next day, I signed up for swim lessons. Water filled me with a sense of wonder and play when I was a girl: long bath times, kiddie pools, playing with my Barbies in the bathroom sink.
Swimming was more complicated. No one in my household knew how to swim, so neither did I, which put me in the nearly 64% of Black kids who don’t know how to swim . But the friends in my suburban, mostly white neighborhood spent their summers in the 4-foot-deep, above-ground pools that dotted the backyards of the block.
The white girls did thei.