an essay by Ellie Kim
I was in swim class, my three year old legs pushing faster and faster with my hands gripping against the side of the pool. The pool was only four feet deep, but it felt like an infinite ocean with treasure at the bottom. The blue waves reflected off my tiny brown eyes as my body shook from the ice-cold water. I was next to my classmates, the tiniest of the group. I lived in my imaginations, without a care in what game they made up that day.
That night, my brother and I were tucked into bed, under merely a single blanket laid out on the floor in the biggest room of the apartment. I loved to sleep at the very edge of the blanket right next to my mom, because I loved how the cold, wooden floor felt under my youthful skin. I dreamed of my swimming competition the next day, and I was so excited to show my parents what I had learned. I imagined the cold, wooden floor as the ice-cold water from the pool. I almost felt my hair getting wet until I fell into a deep slumber.
I swung my dad’s hand and skipped to the pool the next day, my bright blue one-piece swimming suit underneath, ready to be revealed to the world like I was walking a red carpet. Inside, I only heard screams and countless chatters that echoed against the walls from the high ceilings and the slippery floors. I couldn’t count how many other kids were in the pool, and as the tiniest of them all, I felt so insignificant. Nevertheless, my one goal was to make my parents proud.
No one told me it wasn’t a competition. It was simply a showcase. But I wanted to win. I grabbed the floating board from the pile and got in line with my classmates, as we one by one made our way into the pool. The ice-cold water reminded me of the floor I slept on the night before, shoulder to shoulder with my mom, my brother, and my dad at the end. The water made its way in between my stubby toes, and it tickled my waist.
At the sound of “Ready, set, go!” I was off. I moved my legs faster than I ever had before and made sure my eyes were piercing the sky. I glanced off into my peripheral vision to see if my family was watching. I couldn’t see them, and a deep concern overcame me. But I persisted and finished the race.
My mom came to me as I got out of the pool and I was relieved to finally see her face again. She wrapped me up in a towel and brought out my favorite pink robe. I put on my Crocs covered in princess charms and was reunited with my brother and my dad, where they were standing with my teacher! My dad presented me with an award, with my pictures on the sides and decorated with beautiful pink and red bows. I was so excited and so proud; I hadn’t seen anyone else with that trophy. I believed that I had really won the race.
What I didn’t know, at three years old, standing three feet tall, was that it was a fake trophy. My dad had been afraid that we wouldn’t win a prize, so he got one himself. Days before, he went to the store in search of plastic that resembled gold, printed out our names, and taped it to the front. He had preached, “If you work hard, you can do it!” and he couldn’t bear to see us not win something we worked so hard for. What is ironic is that my brother actually did win first place. My dad had prepared a fake trophy for him, too, but he was the fastest backstroke swimmer in his age category. He had won a gold medal, while I stood with the fake trophy in hand. I believed that trophy was real, and I felt like I accomplished my goal of making my parents proud. However, my dad had been proud from the start, from his steps into the store to buy a shiny plastic trophy to his calloused hands decorating it with pretty ribbons, and continuing through an infinite ocean.