Reflecting on my own swimming lessons, I recall the chilly waters of the Mediterranean coast. At the tender age of 9, I encountered waves that seemed monumental, a sandy seabed that felt miles away, and tangled seaweed clinging to my legs. The experience was overwhelming, filled with stinging eyes and salty water that left my throat raw for days. My stepfather pushed me deeper into the surf, his laughter devoid of warmth, but thankfully, I was never truly in peril. It took time, however, before swimming transformed from a source of anxiety to a joyful pursuit.
Fast forward two decades, and I now have the privilege of watching my son learn to swim. He is the smallest in his class, his pale skin reflecting the sunlight like a beacon. Adorned with a vibrant blue swim cap and matching goggles, a laminated swim card hangs proudly around his neck. Each week, he expresses pride in being part of this supportive community. While we wait for his lessons to commence, we engage in a game of I Spy at the pool’s edge: “F” for flag, “L” for lifejacket, or lane marker.
Our journey began over a year ago. Initially, he was fearful, often crying at the thought of sinking. He frequently asked what would happen if he went under without me noticing, envisioning the worst-case scenarios. I reassured him, emphasizing that I was not alone in watching him; everyone was keeping an eye out, and no one would let him submerge. Gradually, he learned to trust the instructors, gentle young men who patiently guided him into the warm waters of our local pool.
With each lesson, he discovered that swimming could be enjoyable. Recently, he progressed to a new group, moving beyond flotation devices and the playful distractions of treasure chests filled with plastic toys. No longer does he crawl along the wall like a monkey; he is now engaged in the serious task of swimming, which can be quite challenging. Even within a brief lesson, I can observe his fatigue setting in. Yet, he is always in capable hands.
When he struggles to keep his legs elevated in the water, instructors support him with their arms beneath his belly. As his arms flail, they calmly guide his movements. They maintain a close proximity to catch him when needed, yet allow enough distance to encourage his development—it’s truly a remarkable sight.
As lessons begin, I notice other parents occupying themselves with books and phones, enjoying a moment of respite. However, embodying the quintessential overzealous soccer mom, I cannot take my eyes off my son. I refuse to miss a single moment.
Occasionally, he glances towards the bleachers in search of me. Upon spotting me, he beams with a wide wave and a grin before refocusing on the water. I watch him laugh and engage with the instructors—these kind, strong young men in their late teens and early 20s who instinctively understand the power of gentleness. Their Australian accents resonate across the pool, highlighting the contrast between my experience and his.
When the lesson concludes, he scuttles towards me, his teeth chattering and a pink line etched into his forehead from the swim cap. I greet him with a towel to wrap around him and a carton of juice for him to drink. He excitedly informs me that next week, for the final lesson of the term, they will be allowed to jump into the deep end for the first time. Despite the chill and exhaustion, his eyes sparkle with anticipation.
This is how it should be. I am profoundly grateful for this experience.
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Summary
This article reflects on a mother’s experience watching her son learn to swim, contrasting it with her own childhood lessons. It emphasizes the importance of trust and support in the learning process, highlighting the joy that can come from overcoming fears.
Keyphrase
swimming lessons for children
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