Swim Lessons, Part I

Swim lessons are finally over, so I’m willing to talk. There was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d ever be capable.

I’m afraid of water.

I grew up running through nettles in order to play in the Greens Fork River, and I’m afraid of water.

I took swimming lessons at the Splash Club in Hagerstown and jumped off the high dive, and I’m afraid of water.

I passed PE in high school which required swimming, and I’m afraid of water.

When the Golay Center opened enrollment for youth swim lessons, I knew it was time to enroll both children. Caroline was in infant swim lessons five (!) years ago, but that was before she could understand the aqua world around her. It was time for both kids to get acquainted with the waves. And it was time for me to get brave.

Five days prior to the first swim lesson I began laying out materials: trunks for Cyrus, a suit for Caroline and nothing short of a body bag for myself. With no ability to recall the last time I frolicked in a body of water, I was having a hard time finding anything suitable for myself to wear to such a lesson. I settled on a top and bottoms, both with elastic older than my barn socks. That’s old. Really old.

We arrived to the Saturday morning swim lesson and all three of us reported to the women’s locker room to get undressed and changed into our swim wear. I was nervous as all get out, anticipating fully that the discomfort I was about to feel in the water was a complete sacrifice for our children to learn how to take care of themselves in any crisis situation.

It wasn’t until we walked out into the pool area that I realized I was in a crisis situation, myself.

There were parents sitting poolside.

There were parents sitting poolside on their phones.

There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully dressed.

There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully dressed and in full make-up.

There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully dressed and in full make-up, enjoying coffee from Café Neo.

I was, in fact, the only parent in the facility who was in swim wear, hanging off my left leg as though a dog had shredded the tired elastic.

When the lesson prior to Caroline’s was over, I oh-so-non-discretely walked over to the edge of the pool and asked the instructor in a whisper, “Don’t I need to get in the water with them?”

“Only for infants. Are they infants?” she responded with a gentle smile.

My “infants” (forever in my eyes) stood upright next to me.

I sent the children into the water took an awkward seat next to the other parents. There was not a towel big enough to conceal the awkwardness I felt.

The kids did fine during lesson one and seemingly 58 hours later we all reported back to the women’s locker room.

“Mom. Why did you wear that swimsuit today If you didn’t have to learn how to swim?” Caroline asked me while I tried to shimmy undies up her half-dried legs.

“Well,” I tried to reason within myself, “Mommy was trying to be prepared but I didn’t read the directions, I guess,” I responded somewhat surprised she even noticed.

“Yeah, Mom. That was weird,” Cyrus remarked, putting the final nail through my drowning heart.

Stay tuned. That was only week one. I regret to inform you that it gets worse.