One of the lifeguards at our community centre pool, who I’d estimate to be in his mid-twenties, sometimes joins in with our aquafit class from the pool deck while he’s also watching to make sure we don’t drown. We have often been amused and heartened by his efforts to lift one leg, stand on one foot, and do jumping jacks on dry land along with those of us (mostly elderly folk) who are doing the exercises in the water. (We also have no doubt that if any of us faltered, he’d be in the pool to save us before anyone else knew that anything was wrong. He watches everything like a hawk.)

This morning when we arrived for our aquafit class, we learned at the front desk that our usual teacher, who is very fit and always very well prepared, was away and they’d been unable to find a substitute. Some of us went home, but some of us decided to go into the pool anyway and see what happened. Maybe we’d have to lead ourselves.

The lifeguard stepped in. For one entire hour he attempted to emulate the moves our regular instructor puts us through. He wasn’t perfect, but he gave it his best shot. And so did we. In the meantime, busloads of primary school students who had arrived for swimming lessons from nearby schools hooted and hollered and splashed so loudly from areas of the pool to the right and left of us that we could barely hear the music, much less our substitute instructor.

At one point, as I looked around at the waves we were all creating and listened to the mayhem, I thought, “Look at us. Twenty or so senior citizens, some younger adults, three classrooms worth of noisy kids, a bunch of lifeguards, and one guy who has stepped up to fill in for our absent aquafit instructor. This really is community.”