Thanks to last year’s shutdown, I missed my lifeguard recertification class. 2020 and the years that I was hugely pregnant have been the only years since I was 15 that I haven’t been certified. It’s a springtime rite of passage for me, and this year was extra special as it marked the first time that A was old enough to get certified for the first time. Since he has a late spring birthday, it was tricky finding him a class that wouldn’t end until after he turned 15, but thanks to Facebook, we made the match.

I offered to help out with the class (you can never have enough volunteers when it comes to practicing how to backboard a spinal victim or rescue a submerged victim from the bottom of the pool), but the instructor, sensing A’s utter mortification, politely declined and offered me a chance to recert separately. I still managed to plague A with lots of lifeguard knowledge on the way to and from the class for a week straight.

I regaled him with tales from some of the best summers of my life, working with my best friends, working at various pools in the Boston area throughout college, and picking up the odd job here or there to make some additional spending money after I graduated. Thankfully, I never had to make many rescues, but the few that I did were memorable. As A got out of the car, I realized he’d had his ear pod in the ear facing away from me and had tuned me out the entire time. Oh well, I’d had a fun walk down memory lane.

At the end of the week, he made the cut and got his certification. The next level of entertainment came as I sent him links to job applications with reminders that I’d met his dad when I got my first lifeguarding job, and who knows who he might meet this summer! Both the Wonderful Husband and I made sure he could execute the very important “whistle twirl.”

Of course, the universe made sure I was paid back for the torment I inflicted on the poor kid. I showed up to my recertification session as one of only three, let’s say, “mature adults.” The rest of the class was full of spry teenage and college-age kids, who were definitely not rocking the “mom” bathing suit. At least I knew enough to leave the one with the little skirt at home. After a year of no swimming, and an 8-mile hike with the Boy Scouts the previous day, I was feeling my age more than I usually do. After a year of absolutely no swimming, the little voice in my head was screaming, “maybe this isn’t such a good idea!”

The instructor offered to let us warm up, and thankfully, the majority said, “No, let’s just get it over with.” I was afraid I’d waste the little energy I had on a warmup and then falter on the rescue. As we got going, more muscle memory started to come back, other than being a lot more tired than I should have been, I think I represented the adults well.

Then, we got to shallow water spinal rescues. The instructor reviewed one of the ways to stabilize a suspected spinal injury victim. After we’d all practiced that, he said, “Now, in the old days, they also used to teach this other technique, and then they did away with it for a while, but they’re bringing it back, so I’m going to review it with you.” It wasn’t the reference to the “old days” that bothered me so much, as it was the fact that I’d already been through a few recertifications when they introduced that as a “new, cutting edge” technique, then phased it out, then brought it back, then phased it out again.

We always joked that the various lifeguard certification companies changed things up just so they could make more money selling new books. This particular technique comes and goes because although it is very effective, it can also cause more harm than good if it’s not executed correctly. The reality of having 15- and 16-year-olds, and rusty 47-year-olds, as lifeguards is that they might not do things right every time.

I think I shocked the instructor when I called the technique by its correct name, and it got me thinking about “the old days.” When I first started lifeguarding, we did not use the ubiquitous red rescue tube, made famous by David Hasselhoff and the “Baywatch” lifeguards. Since we didn’t have the tube for support and protection, we also had to learn a whole bunch of evasive and escape maneuvers. “Suck, tuck and duck” (always incredibly popular with the teenagers) was one for when someone grabbed you from behind. You were supposed to “suck” in air, “tuck” your head so they couldn’t get a grip around your throat, and “duck” under the water, which was the last place a drowning victim wanted to go. Our lifeguard trainings became more like wrestling matches, “victims” determined to hang on for dear life, and guards who had to escape before they became victims.

Nowadays, if a victim grabs on to you, it’s usually easier to just support them with the tube, calm them down, and tow them to safety. Lifeguard training is a lot less fun than it used to be. They’ve cut down on the number of straps needed to hold a victim to a backboard. The kids these days get away with one strap at the chest, one at the hips, and one across the forehead. And they’re Velcro straps, too, no buckles to adjust or slide.

Even though the techniques are different, and the equipment is better, as I looked around at my fellow classmates, I saw all the same kids that have been in every class I’ve ever taken or taught. Kids who are ready to be challenged. Kids who are ready to develop the skills they already have into skills that could end up saving someone’s life. And, yes, kids who are really hoping that they get to partner up with their crush when they practice rescues. To all the kids who are heading out to those chairs this summer, I hope your summer is full of sunny days, long hours, kids who aren’t brats, and great friends who will have your back. And, I hope that in 32 years, maybe we’ll take a recert class together!

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News.