With a Splash

So swimming lessons. C. is taking them right now, and I’m afraid he has inherited my sports ability… which is not so much an ability as it is a handicap. As you may have read, I was a swimmer starting from the age of about nine until I graduated from high school. I dropped a couple of seconds here and there, but for the most part the swimming skills I had at nine were the same ones I had at seventeen, and I was really slow. To demonstrate to you just HOW slow (and please keep in mind that in the sport of swimming it is all about the SPEED and how fast you go) I was regularly put in a lane with mentally and physically handicapped members of the team. And they usually beat me. Whatever, for some reason it didn’t really bother me, I was mostly there to socialize and be able to eat like a cow and still maintain a good figure. Every once in a while I would get depressed about not being in the “cool” fast lane, but I got over that fast and just kept talking. *Ironically, five seconds ago while I was in the middle of writing this post, I went to throw an empty tissue box in the trash can, which was MAYBE an inch in front of me, and missed. My co-worker said, “A little bit of athletic ability is all I ask of you. Just a little.”


Anyway, see how I am? I started off talking about C. and I just selfishly begin to blather on about myself. Last year at the end of the summer he was getting pretty brave in his wading pool, dumping buckets of water on his head and going down the slide with abandon, so this year I wanted to make sure he was safe when the time came to start swimming. I thought he would also love the novelty of swimming inside while it was still cold outside, and it would be a good chance for him to socialize with other kids. Well, he does love the lessons and is infatuated with one of his fellow swimmers, Olivia. However, and it pains me to admit this, C. is the absolute worst swimmer in the class. Everyone else is swimming around like little fishes, their whole bodies submerged under water. C. refuses to even entertain the idea that his face may get wet at some point. When the teacher has them do bobs, all the other kids go all the way to the bottom and push themselves up… C. slowly lowers himself down on his arms until his chin touches the water, and then he comes back up. He is terrified to be on his back, even with the teacher holding him in some kind of wrestling hold. He never lets go of the wall, ever ever. His hair is never wet at the end of the lesson.

BUT… the grin on his face stretches from one ear to the other. The whole time he is yelling, “Mommy! Mommy! Mom, did you see that? Did you see what I did?” He works so, so hard. While we are changing into his swim suit he tells me he’s nervous, and that his legs are shaking because he’s so nervous, but he goes out and gets in that water every damn time. He is polite and respectful of the teacher, and loves to tell me what the other kids were doing or what is on their bathing suit. And of course, there is always Olivia, who he blows bubbles companionably with while they wait their turn to use kickboards. I am so proud of him every week, and if he has to take the class again, and even again, that’s totally fine with me.

I’ll always be cheering for him.