Moth Mondays with the Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera: Peter Potamus “himself”
On the theme of “There’s A First Time for Anything and Everything,” we can imagine Peter Potamus describing his first experience with diving underwater:
It was about the age of four or five years ... which, I can say with certainty, was because it was one of the first times that my late father, Perry Potamus--to whom I owe my fondness for discovery and wanderlust, particularly of such parts of Polynesia otherwise unknown to the “civilised”--had me aboard his Magic Balloon, which I subsequently inherited, on one of his voyages seeking wanderlust and the esoteric in Polynesia. And I certainly admit that those voyages were definitely a learning experience in more ways than one, with much more learned directly than would be learned in school texts.
But it was on this particular voyage that I learned something that has been a definite passion for me all these years: Learning to dive underwater--and to like it.
Now, I do acknowledge that I had some early lessons in swimming soon after I was born, considering that among us hippopotamii, swimming is a natural and yet inherent talent. Yet somehow, my own father felt it might be worthwhile to learn diving as another interesting talent. And learn it in a spot equally dear to my heart as much as my late father’s ... in an isolated island somewhere in Polynesia otherwise unknown, and deliberately. Because, as my father pointed out, there are examples of established primitive cultures as deserve to be best left to themselves as something of a lesson to the otherwise “civilising” such as traders and missionaries who have otherwise ruined perfectly good primitive peoples and their established folkways--even if, at turns, their approach to learning, say, “the facts of life” can tend to be rather direct without being pornographic. Excusing, essentially, a rather candid acceptance of nudity among their folk ... and being rather casual sexually.
In line with the established custom of such islands, it was felt best that I learn about Polynesian-style diving naked, what with the natives actually diving naked more often than not and finding it rather delightful. And so it was one afternoon in a sort of “Blue Lagoon” setting, my father and I walked hand in hand to the shallows of the lagoon where I would take my first steps in diving.
And, after being shown a few limbering-up exercises designed to make the dive a little easier, and introduced to what you might call a “beach gal” type who would lead my introduction to diving alongside my father, I took in a deep breath for the dive--which, I admit, certainly calls to mind the Hippo Hurricane Holler--and, basically wearing only myself, I dove into the lagoon. And managing to find my father, I began realising something wonderful about diving ... the sheer feeling of being in essentially another world, which happens to be what it’s like. It’s almost as if you are basically free and light for all purposes and intents.
So, father, “beach gal” and I dove to a depth of about eight feet beneath the surface, close to a long-established underwater tiki statue of the sort native divers have long enjoyed ... and guided somewhat by my father, who was kneeling on the ocean bottom close to a rather beautiful coral reef, I would swim close to his chest.
And he just hugged me in admiration of my first diving experience.
Which our “beach gal,” a native herself, also took to in response.
I just couldn’t help but sense the sensation of something new and wonderful being discovered at such a young age ... and upon return to the shore not long afterward, Perry, my father, summarised the experience to me this way: “Just remember this, Peter: There is nothing more wonderful among experiences in the water than actually diving underwater ... and how it just feels so wonderful to be close to Nature wearing but yourself.”
Which I’ve taken to heart many times since, especially when crossing paths with these same Polynesians otherwise unknown to the world at large thanks to my father as much as myself. And spending time in these same islands among such wonderfully spectacular coral reefs as much as playfully friendly dolphins, sea lions, seals ... and “the locals” themselves, with a hospitality as can get to be very addicting. And which I am likely to share with a nephew of mine before too long.
“... and that’s the story from The Moth”
(The preceding is an independent fanfic feature having no official connexion or association with The Moth. For more information, please to visit their website ... and tune in to The Moth Radio Hour weekends on your local public radio station; check your local radio listings for the day and time.)
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