Number 95
September 23, 2011
“I don’t want to go swimming,” Owen wailed. He threw himself on the ground.
During the previous swim class, Margaret reported that Owen refused to get into the pool. With Kiana in her arms, she did not have the means to do more. They tried for ten minutes before she took home two dry kids.
This time, I arranged to work from home to go to the lessons with him. Daddy brought a different approach: the “hey, let’s go have fun” style, backed by greater will to get him in the dang water.
I sat in street clothes and negotiated with the young fellow poolside, my bare feet dangling in the water. Owen wore his new swimsuit and stared down at the water and the sunny young woman imploring him to jump into her arms. Note to self: if we are unable to cross this divide in the next dozen years, return to this exact spot.
Oh, how we battled! Cajoling, bribes, the works. At this age, there is no reason why. Nor, I suspect, would there be a why if he was sixteen. He Did Not Want To Go Swimming.
Yet being a non-swimmer, or even a mediocre swimmer, is not an option in my family. I am not the Great Santini, but my kids will know how to swim reasonably well.
For most, “knowing how to swim” essentially means that in placid, enclosed, and warmed water, they will not drown. For short periods of time, with some anaerobic thrashing, water can be endured.
But there is no more mastery in that than being able to run three miles without stopping or picking your way through the chords of Owen’s favorite song, “Iron Man. ” I am neither a distance runner nor a guitar hero, but the difference here can be a matter of life and death.
Until a swimmer is comfortable with his head underwater and motoring forward with an economy of motion, the water remains an alien planet. Your relationship to water is unformed and cannot indeed be formed until you remove the urgency from your strokes. You need to find that little glide.
My kids will not become city kids afraid of the pool or beach, even if they never extract a third of what water means to me. The family has committed to swim lessons, and swimmers we shall be.
But at four, what is a commitment, Pop?
I looked down at Owen, silent and slouched, his cheeks puffy from tears. I hate seeing my son like this, particularly at my instigation. He’s a wonderful son, and we had given it a good go today. The teacher had since returned to her more willing pupils. The breeze was picking up. I pulled my feet from the water.
It galled me, this failure of mine to inspire and convince. Yet I took solace in giving up the battle for the greater, future victory for both of us. I carried Owen to the car.
The next lesson after that, Mom and Dad both got food-poisoning, and we had no will to go to the pool. Owen will be a non-swimmer for another year.
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September 25, 2011 at 8:43 pm |
This was such a sweet article – maybe instead of the “jump in” from the side they could try a “walk-in” from the steps which may create a smoother transition.
September 26, 2011 at 3:34 am |
I just got back from my evening swim… something I do on the daily. Bads news for you… doesn’t sound like a successful swim lesson. Good news… he’s four years old. Water activities have always been a big part of our life, lots of swimming. Our son at seven, still a non-swimmer would get in the water but refused to get his face wet. We tried and tried but he just wouldn’t put his head in the water. Since he was considered an older student, we opted for private swim lessons, with a warning, he will not go under. I reluctantly dropped him off and waitted in the parking lot till the end of the lesson. Upon my return the instructor said I want to show you our progress. She tossed three rings in the water. I watched with the biggest smile on my face, my son go under water and retrieve each ring!!!! No child will swim before his time!
September 26, 2011 at 9:48 am |
Success. Yes, I think sometimes the best thing is to have the parent simply fade to the background. Good work, young fellow.