In reflecting on my early swimming experiences, I recall learning in the frigid waters off the southern coast of France. As a nine-year-old, the waves felt monumental, the sandy bottom always just out of reach, and the underwater vegetation would wrap around my legs. I often ingested salty water, leading to stinging eyes and a raw throat that lingered long after. My stepfather was present, nudging me deeper into the surf without a comforting demeanor. While I was never truly in peril, it took years before I could swim with genuine joy.
Fast forward two decades, and I now find myself observing my son as he learns the art of swimming. He is the smallest in his class, with fair skin that glimmers in the sunlight. Sporting a vibrant blue swimming cap and goggles, he wears a laminated swim card on a lanyard around his neck. He expresses pride each week about being part of this learning community. As we await his lesson, we engage in a game of I Spy, identifying items like F for flag and L for lifejacket.
After more than a year of lessons, his initial fears have transformed. In the beginning, he would often cry, overwhelmed by the thought of sinking. He voiced concerns about what might happen if he went under unnoticed. I could see the anxiety in his imagination. I reassured him that he was never alone—that we were all there to watch over him. Gradually, he learned to trust his instructors, the patient young men who gently guided him into the warm waters of our local pool. With each lesson, he discovered that swimming could indeed be enjoyable.
Recently, my son has progressed to a new group. He has moved beyond the use of flotation devices and the treasure chests of toys. Gone are the days of monkey-crawling along the pool’s edge; he is now fully engaged in the serious endeavor of swimming. Even during a half-hour lesson, I can see the fatigue setting in. However, he is in the best of hands.
When he struggles to keep his legs elevated in the water, instructors support him by placing their arms under his belly. When his arms flail with enthusiasm, they calmly guide his movements, always close enough to catch him but far enough to encourage his growth—it’s fascinating to witness.
As the lessons commence, I notice other parents pull out their books or phones, taking a much-deserved break. However, much like the stereotypical overzealous soccer mom, I cannot divert my gaze from my son. I must witness every moment of his progress. Occasionally, he scans the poolside for my presence. Upon spotting me, he beams and waves before promptly returning his focus to the water.
I observe him laughing and conversing with his instructors—these capable young men, who intuitively understand that gentleness yields the best results. With their Australian accents, Dylan, Adam, and Brendan create a supportive atmosphere that contrasts sharply with my own childhood experiences.
At the lesson’s conclusion, he scurries to the side, teeth chattering and a pink mark across his forehead from the swim cap. I am ready with a towel to wrap him warmly and a carton of juice to quench his thirst. He excitedly informs me that for the final lesson of the term, they will have a special treat: the chance to jump into the deep end for the first time. Despite the chill and fatigue, his eyes shine with anticipation.
This is how it should be. I am immensely grateful for this experience.
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Summary
The author reflects on their own challenging swimming lessons compared to their child’s joyful experience in the pool. Through supportive instructors and encouragement, the child overcomes fears and embraces swimming, culminating in excitement for the upcoming opportunity to jump into the deep end, illustrating the contrast between past and present experiences in learning.