Jumping In

Alex has swimming lessons on Monday afternoons. I have dutifully taken him to swimming lessons once each week for four years. He swims all summer - in the lake, in my parents' pool, in the Atlantic. He loves the water, and while he has often squawked at going to swimming lessons, I have been insistent. I am a weak swimmer. We live near a lake. His friends will have boats. He will want to water ski. He will fly off the rope jump near Fairy Springs. He has to know how to swim.

And he can, and he has, for at least a year. On a warm day, he will swim for hours. At the gym, he can swim laps. But he would not put his face in the water. He would not. If Alex has one defining personality characteristic, it is stubbornness, and in his five years, I have seen it work for and against him. In this case, he has been adamant. He will NOT put his face in the water. He will not. He has worn down Sharky, the most experienced swim instructor on the planet. He has taught nearly every person in this town to swim, ages 2 - 40. No joke. He has worn down countless others, much newer to the field. He has worn down me. The mere mention of his eye balls touching the water, even for a second, has been met with adamant refusal. Not even goggles would do the trick. And yet, he can jump like a pro, swim laps like a champ, and float on his back until I count to a google.

Last Monday, I took him to class. He never advances. You have to float with your face in the water to advance. He swam. He horsed around. And he adamantly refused to put his face in the water. I sighed from the stands and reminded myself, "all in good time" while secretly wondering if this was worth our while any longer. After class, I approached the teacher about a private lesson. That, I reasoned, might do the trick. Don't get me wrong. I do believe firmly that kids will do things in their own time. But I also know my son. And sometimes I worry that his stubborn streak will come at a cost. Private lessons just might do the trick. The instructor and I agreed on the Tuesday after vacation.

And then came vacation. Alex begged for a hotel with a pool. And we obliged. It was perfect family time - the hotel a Valentine surprise. Cate flung herself with glee off the edge, bobbing deep under water and popping up with sheer delight written all over her face. Alex approached things a bit more carefully, but the roughnecking of time with dad gave way. I grimaced from the hot tub as I watched my children fly recklessly through the air, landing with painful belly flops or plunging underwater after their father had launched them. They came up sputtering, but happy. It was a bit too much. Other parents watched Cate with amazement and asked if we had started her young. She has no fear of the water. As young as we could, I answered honestly. But despite the craziness, despite the volume of water to the face, Alex hung back.

Until Monday morning. Without pretext, without warning, he put his face in the water, and he swam. Over and over. I am not sure who swelled with more pride - Alex or me. This is the thing that has amazed me most as a parent - the ability to truly feel the emotion of your child, be it joy, or sorrow, or pain, or pride. I watched in proud amazement, and couldn't imagine feeling any greater joy if I were watching him take the gold in the Olympics. And he felt the same way. Steve, the parent who has attended two or three swimming lessons and has been present for about 2o percent of Alex's life long swimming opportunities (and I say this with all due respect.... I am the lucky stay-at-home-parent) took credit for the advancement. "All he needed was his dad," he said with his own ounce of pride. And he might be right. While I encourage my children in every way I can, my instinct is to protect them from pain. I have left a teary small boy a hundred times at the door of his teacher and tried not to look back, my heart breaking in a million pieces. I have looked at a backward, crooked letter S brought forth from the tip of a pencil with such determination and said, "Great job, buddy!" I have stood back, just a foot out of reach, from the edge of the pool and watched him jump, always ready to catch him and help him wipe the water away from his eyes. But I have never flung him six feet in the air and seven feet out from my body. No. This I have not done. For this, he needed dad.

Not wanting to lose momentum, today, I dutifully plunged my white, February body into a suit again and headed for the gym with both kids. I didn't want Alex to lose momentum. Like I said, I know this kid, and I know all that stands between him and never putting his face in the water again is his ability to convince himself he can only do it at a hotel in Fishkill. Cate and Alex were both thrilled to so swimming. And at first he was reluctant, but he did put his face in, and as luck would have it, his instructor was life guarding, and so he showed him too. But I wasn't prepared for what came next. Thirty minutes in the lap pool and he looked over at the diving pool.

"I want to jump off the diving board. Please ask if I can." I try reason. I try logic. "You will plunge too deep. You will go way over your head." But he is insistent.

Permission is granted. We head over. I jump in and get enough water up my nose to help a drought stricken country. I start to doubt the wisdom of this move. If this happens to Alex, he will never try it again.

He climbs up the ladder and to the edge of the board. He falters. He hesitates. And he jumps. He comes up, coughing and bursting with pride. He jumps again and again and convinces his little sister to try it once too. She comes up with a smile on her face, but once is enough for her. At least for today. She, I know, is fearless. She will jump again.

And so it is. Last week, I had a little boy who refused to put his face in the water, even for a second. Today, he is jumping from six feet in the air into 13 foot water.

This, I know, is my reminder. Cherish those tearful moments. Cherish the times of fear. All too soon they will pass ... My heartbreak replaced by swelling pride and fear as I watch my two babies take the plunge and come up smiling.