Arvid Huisman.

Ah, the warm days of summer. The smell of chlorine. The sounds of laughter and lifeguards’ whistles.

The cool touch of water on sweltering skin. The sight of firm young bodies bronzed by the sun.

Yes, the pools are open and it’s swimming season once again. For millions of Americans, it is a delightful time of year; a time to visit the local swimming pool.

For many others, it’s sort of like a young dude getting a date with a Victoria’s Secret model — just a dream. I am a member of this latter group. I’m living proof that fat does not float.

I can’t swim.

It isn’t that I haven’t tried. I started Red Cross swimming lessons three years in a row.

The first year, when I was six, I got a bad case of boils a few weeks into the program. The second year, I got a bad cold a few weeks into the program.

A few weeks into the third attempt, I figured out I was not only much larger than my classmates, but nearly as large as the instructor. So, I dropped out.

For 65 years now, I have paid the price of guilt, depression and envy.

Being persistent by nature, I haven’t totally given up on water fun. Over the years, I have gone swimming (translated: I’ve walked in the water) several times.

When our kids were small and we were too broke to pay the fee at the pools in Sioux City, we occasionally drove to Brown’s Lake south of town, where there was a nice public beach. It was obvious that the folks at the beach weren’t too concerned with how they looked, so I didn’t feel too self-conscious baring my ghostly white skin.

One summer, we vacationed at a motel in Kansas City with some friends. I don’t know what came over me, but on one of the days there, I had so much fun in the motel pool I had forgotten that I burn easily.

It was a beautiful sunshiny day in K.C., and that evening, we attended a Royals game. I was so hot and so miserable, I felt like I was going to pass out a couple of times.

While I’m not much of a beer drinker, I discovered that a cold brew does have medicinal benefits.

The drive home was miserable, as the sunburn had begun to blister. Putting on a white shirt and tie to go back to work a few days later, was even more miserable.

I don’t recall that I have “gone swimming” since.

Being unable to swim is not only embarrassing, it’s scary. When we were still newlyweds, my wife and I spent a day at Clear Lake with some friends of my wife’s family.

The friends had a lovely home on the lake, and after lunch, everyone went water skiing. My wife encouraged me to learn this exciting sport.

Having learned early that fat doesn’t float, I strapped on an around-the-waist safety belt and a chest-type life preserver. I walked out into the lake from the beach to be sure that the combination would in fact buoy me in the water.

Comfortable that I would not drown, I joined the crew in the boat. After a few of the group had skied, it was announced that it was my turn.

Trusting the double-protection strapped to my body and the assurances that I would immediately come to the surface after entering the water, I obediently flopped over the edge of the boat. What no one had anticipated is that I would hit the bottom of the lake before resurfacing.

As I had been promised, I came right back to the surface… after cutting my large right toe on something sharp at the bottom of the lake.

Assuring myself that sharks were saltwater fish, I proceeded with my wife’s assistance to put on the skis. She gave me a few quick tips on how to come up out of the water and gave the boat’s driver the high sign.

I could hear the motor rev and then felt the pull on the rope.

I came up out of the water and… went face-first into the water. After going through this humiliating exercise several times, we determined that the heavily loaded boat didn’t have enough power to pull me up. I crawled back into the boat, nursing a cut toe and a bruised ego.

Humiliation, injuries and sunburns. It just isn’t worth it.

Whenever I get the urge to swim, I look for an old Sea Hunt rerun or one of the Jaws movies on television.