Night Swimming

There are only a handful of experiences I enjoy more than being submerged in water. As a child, I spent hours being entertained by weightlessness; and even now, I can't resist letting myself drop to the bottom and float back up.

I had hopes for my first born...assured that she would take to the water well and quickly appreciate all that it has to offer. When she was two, we took her for her first swimming lessons. Her blood boiling screams were difficult for us to endure, but even more unpleasant for the parents with cooperative kids. We caught enough dirty looks, from behind many a video recorder, to know we wouldn't be back for the next class.

Two years later, I asked LS if she wanted to give it another shot.
She wasn't interested until she found out that many of the "bigs" in the neighborhood spent their summers frolicking in pools around town.

So, I forked out the cash and held my breath...a process that I am growing accustomed to. Will she actually wear the shoes?..will she be asked to leave the pre-school?...will she be coordinated enough for ballet? Like a wishing well; you throw your money out there and hope you get what you paid for.

LS has now completed 7 out of 8 lessons with flying colors. She likes her instructors (even the nice guy with a hairy chest, something she really isn't used to) and is willing to let them tell her what to do; as long as they don't ask her to put her head under water.

With two lessons to go, one of the teachers came to me and said LS had made huge improvements. I smiled and appreciated their kind words, but we both knew the only progress she had made was that she wasn't screaming.

Hoping none of the kinder, gentler moms heard me, I asked the teacher if he wouldn't mind raising the bar a bit.

"I don't care if you make her cry, if you know what I mean," I quietly suggested. "I'm not paying you to drag her around on a float...neither of us are here for kicks and giggles."

With a wink and a nod, he responded, "You got it."

The next 25 minutes may have been the most difficult LS has endured in her short life. She was lured into the water, assuming that the strong arms of a teacher would prevent her from going under. Each time she was allowed to "free fall" for up to 2 seconds; she would catch her breath and beg me to take her home. The teachers persevered and kept pushing her to try the next task. By the end, she had her fill of swimming, and told the teachers she wouldn't be back.

"I can't handle this any more," she explained, "when I go under water the world looks so different."

First I chuckled, knowing I would force her to try again and found some pleasure in what I like to call, "pansy prevention." Later I felt sad, knowing the rest of her life would be one terrifying jump after another. I won't always be there to chaperone and give her the thumbs up when she comes up for air.

My training pool isn't much different. I am constantly looking for the exit sign when the going gets rough. I wonder if anyone is watching, knowing full well how much more there is left.