Splish, Splash

It’s been a busy month. I’ve been organizing a Walk to School Week for my son’s school. I went to grade school in San Francisco, where we literally had to walk uphill both ways to get to school. My momma would have thought I was nuts to ask her to drive me to school. “Boy, you got feet!! What do you think God gave ‘em to you for?”, is what I’m sure she’d say. But today’s kids get personal chauffeur service to and from everywhere and have gotten fat and lazy. So some other parents and I are organizing events to lure them back on to the sidewalks for a healthy dose of fresh air and exercise to start the day. It’s been fun. But tiring.

But the really tiring thing has been learning how to swim. Yep, at the ripe old age of 47 I’ve finally learned how to boogie across the pool.

Part of it is long-deferred desire. A lot more is having a second-grader son who was splashing water on me in the pool and then paddling to the other side, laughing. Oh, such fun it was when I shot back after him a couple of weeks ago!! He liked it. He’s now got Daddy as pool buddy in addition to playground buddy, ballgame buddy and hide-and-seek buddy.

Perhaps the biggest incentive was fear of not being able to hop into the pool or river and save my son’s life without risking my own. That was the motivator of motivators.

So now that I know how, I feel stupid for all the years I didn’t. I literally learned within a week. On Monday I would sink to the bottom of the pool. By Friday I could scoot across with little difficulty. (Gotta watch the feet, keep ‘em –straight-!) In the past, I tried to learn it on the cheap. I took a college course, and then last year a Parks and Rec course. In both cases, it was “hold on to the side and kick.” Did nothing.

Grown-ups who can’t swim have two stunning fears. One is sinking, of not feeling solid surface under our feet. The other is dunking our head under the water. Seems, like, -dangerous- or something. That’s why my momma wouldn’t let me learn when I was a kid. I wanted to go to the local pool and learn. No, she said, you can’t get in the pool because you don’t know how to swim. Gee, Ma, I think I need to do that to –learn- how to swim. Momma never learned to swim herself and was absolutely terrified of drowning. So I didn’t learn.

(San Francisco high school graduation requirements at the time included knowing how to swim. My swim class teacher couldn’t believe I didn’t already know how and told me to stand by the pool until she could figure out what to do with me. After a couple of days of this, I skipped class and spent the time reading the Foundation and Empire sci-fi trilogy.)

My son could swim when he was five. He’s always loved water and my wife is a good swimmer, so he learned by watching and doing at an age when he doesn’t overthink it all.

So, on a lark as I passed by a local swim school in August, I stopped, and signed up for professional lessons.

I hate spending money for nothing, so I knew that if I paid cash money, I’d learn. I also needed –individual- lessons. I needed someone to sit there, push me, direct me and get my head under water.

It worked. Now, I love swimming. It’s fantastic exercise. It’s a social thang, especially here in toasty summered Sacramento. There were warm days through September where I could douse myself in the local homeowners association pool. Now that the days are cooling, I’ve just gotta find an indoor pool to play in. Besides, it’s a great way to get Leroy to behave. During the summer, all we have to say is “No pool!” to get him to straighten up and fly right.

The oddest part has been the lukewarm congratulations of the grown folks around me. It’s been, “oh, that’s nice …”. I was expecting huzzahs and backslaps. But I guess when you’re finally learned something a lot of second graders can do, it’s really much of a victory. But I’ll declare victory anyway. It was my war, so if I say I’ve won, I’ve won. So there.