When I was five, maybe six years old, my mom enrolled me in swim
lessons at the local pool. On my first day, the fifteen year old
"teacher" came up from behind me, pushed my head under the water, and
then proudly said, "See there is nothing to be scared of. You
survived." I had just gulped buckets of water, my eyes were stinging, and
I knew right then that this swim teacher was not to be trusted with my life.
I think it is safe to say I was traumatized by the experience.
Thankfully, the boys haven't had such an experience. Blowing bubbles in the water wasn't anything compared to a near drowning. However, this year marks the end of swim lessons. Keagan hates swim lessons and reminded me today that I told him two years ago he could stop taking lessons when he learned to use a stroke. He can do three strokes when he wants to. It seems that this past week he made certain I understood that he didn't want to swim when he proceeded to doggie paddle to and from the ends of the pool instead of using the called stroke. He might have shone independence at the water park on Monday, but it was pure rebellion at the pool yesterday.
Evan can do all four strokes and do them well. He swims gracefully and almost effortlessly. The way I always wanted to be able to swim. He can snorkel in the ocean, dive deep into the coral, and flip back to the surface for air better than most adults. He can swim across the length of the pool and back again and never gasp for air. He can do it again and still not gasp for air. Today I was told that there really isn't anything left for him to "learn", and I suggested that he join a swim team. Sadly, Evan won't even consider it.
After five years of sitting through bubble blowing, kick and catch, shark fin, and monkey/airplane/soldier, I know how to swim, too, and it wasn't nearly as traumatizing as my first experience thirty years ago.
I think it is safe to say I was traumatized by the experience.
Thankfully, the boys haven't had such an experience. Blowing bubbles in the water wasn't anything compared to a near drowning. However, this year marks the end of swim lessons. Keagan hates swim lessons and reminded me today that I told him two years ago he could stop taking lessons when he learned to use a stroke. He can do three strokes when he wants to. It seems that this past week he made certain I understood that he didn't want to swim when he proceeded to doggie paddle to and from the ends of the pool instead of using the called stroke. He might have shone independence at the water park on Monday, but it was pure rebellion at the pool yesterday.
Evan can do all four strokes and do them well. He swims gracefully and almost effortlessly. The way I always wanted to be able to swim. He can snorkel in the ocean, dive deep into the coral, and flip back to the surface for air better than most adults. He can swim across the length of the pool and back again and never gasp for air. He can do it again and still not gasp for air. Today I was told that there really isn't anything left for him to "learn", and I suggested that he join a swim team. Sadly, Evan won't even consider it.
After five years of sitting through bubble blowing, kick and catch, shark fin, and monkey/airplane/soldier, I know how to swim, too, and it wasn't nearly as traumatizing as my first experience thirty years ago.
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