Deep dread filled every guy’s gut while registering for tenth grade swim class, a requirement for high school graduation. Swim class wasn’t horrifying, but the school issued Speedos were. It’s unnerving and awkward, staring down a miniature male bikini bottom.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I would squeeze into my purple Speedo, all while trying to avoid upperclassmen, who upon seeing any Sophomore in their “mankini” would hoot and holler “Speedo!” at the top of their lungs. It was humiliating. Heads hung real low, trying not to make eye contact, we walked like a funeral procession, single file to our graves. I secretly think each of us envied death, longing for the easy way out of this embarrassment.
To make matters worse, our school issued suits weren’t even ours. We shared them! Color coded by waist size, each school Speedo, green, purple, red, blue, was washed and recycled for the next student to use. I felt especially bad for the chubby, obese boy in our class. All of us had standard issue colors and he had yellow. Yellow, no one had ever seen yellow before! It was like seeing a mythical unicorn, but plumper.
Strangely enough, even the non-swimming activities were done donning Speedos. We took written exams, watched videos, and listened to lectures, all in our spandex uniform. I’m still unsure why they made us do that, but we surely did. Twenty dudes, scrawny, fat and insecure, crouched on a cold tile floor wearing color coded Speedos daydreaming of somewhere, anywhere else, I just have to look back and laugh.
In all honesty, we had fun. Making the best of a rotten situation seemed the only sensible option after a while. Sure, it was awfully awkward, gangly limbs flailing through kickboard exercises and belly flopping off the diving board, but we managed to make it through a rite of passage together and at least it wasn’t a co-ed class. Thank goodness there weren’t girls laughing at us. You know they would have.
