Swim Fan
Until yesterday, I had a good portion of my blog written about a New Year, New Me. Until yesterday, I considered myself a fairly hands-off parent. Until yesterday, I made fun of “proud parent of” bumper stickers. Until yesterday, I was a pretty normal, level-headed woman. That was, until yesterday, Van started swim lessons.
This week, instead of a blog listing all of my resolutions and bucket list goals for 2019, I’m going to tell the story about how yesterday I became everything I thought I wouldn’t. Yesterday, I became, as one online T-shirt reads, “a towel washin’, goggle findin’, snack packin’, Facebook postin’, always cheerin’, picture takin’, Swim Mom.”
Before I get into the stream of outlandish competitive consciousness I jotted down while watching my boy swim laps, let me start by stating that our family’s interest in and knowledge of sports is limited to two things: 1. Our undying love for the Chicago Cubs and 2. Everything Rod tells us. Outside that, we got nothing.
Whereas Rod is a devout sports enthusiast, listening to every talk radio program, following every sports broadcaster, talking about everything from the NBA to Bocce Ball on his Morgan You Know podcast, I know just enough about the Cubs to hold a two-minute conversation with a stranger about baseball in May. It’s also worth noting that neither of us is very athletic. Especially me. My hand-eye coordination is atrocious. So much so that I sometimes avoid asking to borrow any handheld item from a colleague in a meeting out of fear it may be tossed across a boardroom table with the expectation that I catch it. No, no, I say. I’ll walk around to get it. Thanks.
Unfortunately, Van takes after me when it comes to sports and, because of his ADHD, for most of his life, his group activities have been limited to daycare and water gun fights with the neighbors. We tried soccer once, and Van made it through eight nerve wracking, overly apologetic, frustratingly awful classes until the “season” was finally over. Not only did he show very little interest in the sport itself, he also couldn’t stop creating forts out of the net long enough to realize he was part of a team.
Rod also tried baseball, basketball and football, but the only enjoyment Van found there was placing each of the balls around the yard and using them as an obstacle course for his Paw Patrol figurines.
With that said, although Van may not enjoy sports in the traditional sense, he is an active child and has always loved the water. He has been raised in lakes and pools and he started teaching himself how to kick and hold his breath under water around age 3. We’ve always known swimming would be the sport in which he would thrive. For us, it was simply finding the right time for him to get involved, which is why now, with a much more in-control child, the New Year seemed like the perfect time to start.
Van woke up excited to go to his first class. Water is his happy place and he’s confident in his ability to swim well. Before we left, I reminded him to listen to his instructors and remember he doesn’t yet know all there is to know about swimming even though it’s something he’s good at. “Just have fun, buddy,” I said. He said he understood, and off we went.
We walked into the Kroc Center (a true gem for families in the South Bend community) and Van quickly changed into his swimsuit. We then entered the aquatics area and checked in.
“Name?” A woman asked.
“Van Morgan,” I said.
“Great! You’re all set!”
I paused. “Wait, how does this work?”
“First he will line up with the other children and be tested on things like holding his breath and blowing bubbles and …”
“Oh, he’s a very strong swimmer,” I said defensively.
“That’s great! She said. “He will probably be put into one of the higher groups then. Once they’re divided by ability, they will be paired with instructors.”
“Thanks so much,” I said. Van smiled.
It was in that moment I first questioned how seriously I was taking all of this. Was it really necessary I inform the receptionist Van is a good swimmer? Why does she care? Why do I care? Then I remembered my bangs and began worrying about how the humidity of the pool would affect them instead. You’re OK, Kate, I thought. You’re just proud of Van. And your bangs are still the most important part of this entire experience. Phew.
Van waited patiently for his turn to jump into the pool, and when he did he did so with ease and genuine happiness. He was then asked to swim as far as he could, which he also did beautifully and with confidence. I couldn’t hear what the test instructor said to him after sending him to another group, but I can only imagine it was something akin to, “You’re a star.”
Soon, Van was placed into the first group. I quickly texted Rod who was at work: “So far so good. He’s in the top swim group, meaning he’s the most experienced and I feel far superior to every other parent.”
It was then I realized the change was upon me. There was not stopping it. I swiped my bangs to one side. I Am Swim Mom.
I also realized I needed to fully capture what I was feeling watching Van in that pool. And here it is, unedited, written yesterday morning in the Notes app of my phone:
He is one of five in the top tier swimming class. The only boy. A goddamn swimming prodigy.
He’s learning various strokes with the assistance of what looks to be a floating dumbbell.
Why isn’t the instructor using my child to show the others how to float and flip? My kid could swim the length of this pool and back with the little waif you’re using as an example tied to his left foot. He’s the next Michael Phelps for Christ’s sake. How can you not see that?
Olivia with the pink goggles is getting all the attention. Of course she is.
He’s practicing treading water when it’s not his turn to swim with the dumbbell. He’s perfect.
He’s having some trouble using both arms while swimming freestyle. Perhaps I should get him a coach independent of these still-home-from-college-during-winter-break “instructors.” What the hell do they know anyway?
Oh no, they’ve given him one of those pool noodles and instead of using it to practice swimming he’s making fart bubbles by straddling the noodle and blowing into one end. You’re ruining your shot, Van! Stop acting like a child!