When I strolled into work on that typical morning, the pool greeted me with its familiar smell of chlorine as I walked onto the open deck. In a few hours, a school group of wide-eyed eighth graders waiting to have their first look towards the quickly approaching summer would be splashing in the water. For me, summer meant being up on top of the white painted lifeguard stand, scanning the water hoping to one day be a hero like the ones in the movies.

My heart sank when I heard the shrill, high pitched tone of a whistle. Across the pool my co-worker sprinted across the deck and leaped into the cold, blue water. This was not the usual panicked seven year old who had “forgotten how to swim,” but a teenager who had slipped underneath the water, unconscious and not breathing.

I immediately grabbed my whistle and blew one long consistent note; at the top of my lungs I ordered everyone to clear the pool. I saw the boy being pulled from the water. To a by-standing teacher, I persisted,

“Call 911!”

My role was clear now. I was not the guard who could give assistance in first aid, not the guard who could show the EMTs where to go. I was the guard stuck on crowd control. My heart was racing as I did what I was taught; yet it all felt so wrong.

For a long time I felt guilty. Maybe if I had abandoned my post I could have been one of the heroes I looked up to. But, one summer, and five of my own rescues later, I realized that there are things I can and cannot control. Some situations call for a hero; but, most times all that is needed is a helping hand. I did my job. I was helping. I watched over the rest of those kids who were as terrified as I was, and helped prevent another accident. Now, whenever I am in the stand, I treasure those moments when everyone is safe, enjoying summer, knowing everything can be pulled underwater and a hero could be needed. I know I will be ready, to play my part, whatever it may be.