I was not born for summer.
It’s a little ironic, given I was born in the summer. As a July baby, I’ve seen others celebrate their sunny roots and bask in the glory of a white-hot beach day. I’m just not one of them.
I come alive when the first pumpkins appear on porches and evening finally offers relief, not just steamy darkness. My time will soon be upon us, but for now it’s melting ice cream and heat advisories, friends.
Trying to cool off, we’ve spent lots of time at the pool this year — also amusing, given I can’t swim. I took lessons for years, well into childhood, but never mustered the gumption to put my face in the water.
Skeptical friends have tried to convince me that I can, in fact, swim; I just wasn’t trying hard enough. Again and again, I proved them wrong. Whatever the gene that allows others to submerge and take off like minnows, it skipped me. I’m the river boulder, you see: immovable. Jagged. In the way.
When my children arrived, I wanted them to feel differently. Swimming lessons soon became routine. But even as we dutifully attended many sessions with different instructors over the years, Ollie and Hadley have not taken to the water naturally.
Finally, my husband and I stopped pushing it. I came to dread these lessons growing up, so much so that some of my “fear” is probably borne of anxiety. So since last summer, the kids have been splashing around under the watchful eye of friends and family who have unofficially helped them learn new skills.
Oliver is now easily going underwater, gaining confidence each session. And Hadley is growing, too. She’s definitely a “Can I put my feet in?” kind of girl — embracing new experiences, wanting to try everything. These days, I find my role is to support her ... and not let my own fears hold her back.
At a friend’s pool recently, Hadley was ready to charge ahead. She’d watched all the other kids jump off the diving board and wanted to go next. My gut reaction? Absolutely not. But ... she looked so hopeful. She was wearing a life vest with adults paying close attention. If she felt confident enough to try, why should we deny her the chance?
“We have to let her try hard things,” I whispered to my also-nervous husband. Immediately I wanted to snatch the words back, but still gave a trembling nod.
Hadley joined the line of daring diving-board jumpers. Then, she succeeded where I’ve always failed: she went for it, plunging into the deep end with a battle cry. I held my breath. Then, she popped back up, extending an arm and a thumbs-up — an astronaut victorious from her successful splashdown.
Unexpected tears sprang to my eyes. She did it!
I was proud of her, yes, but more importantly, I hoped she was proud of herself.
It seems we’re both learning new things.
Reach Meg at msjohnson.somd@gmail.com.
