Of Swimming and Life

Matthew has had swimming lessons since the age of four but he never really learned how to swim with confidence and the correct technique---- until today. 

After three summers of lessons and four different teachers, we finally reached the breakthrough; we finally found THE teacher  who I may well credit for teaching Matt how to swim.

The very essence of Matt learning to swim was for him to overcome his fear of the water.  Matt’s first summer of group lessons was with Miss Helen,  a patient woman who braved the challenge of pacifying a row of bawling babies hanging on to the ledge for dear life calling out for Mom; which was exactly how MatMat was.  On his first day, from beginning to end he bawled for Mama, in a chorus of four other kids.  At the end of the week, Matthew was jumping in and lunging towards the side of the pool, but he hadn’t learned how to swim.

Miss Helen

The next summer I signed him up again for group lessons with some college age teenager on a summer job at the local pool.  Being with five or six other kids on a 30 minute lesson did not teach him anything new.  I was so determined that he learn this life skill—(after all, this is Florida where drowning is the number one cause of death in young children) that I shelled out a quarter of my paycheck to get him private lessons that same summer.  This time the private tutor was an ex-Olympian from some Baltic country named Petra.  She should make an Olympian out of Matt was what I was thinking.  She did teach Matt to swim the length of the pool, but once he reached the point of panic, MatMat would resort to what we humorously called his "panic stroke":  some sort of treading, doggie-style of swimming.  He was so scared of being in more than five feet of water that he practically clung to Miss Petra begging her not to let go.  He anticipated his lessons with anxiety he would pretend to get sick.  The dread of another lesson preoccupied him for days before the next one.  It did not help at all that his teacher was a blond, long-legged, six-foot beauty with an accent whose constant expression was "there you go".  Thanks to Miss Petra, Matthew learned the freestyle and backstroke, floating, and the "panic" stroke.  Despite these achievements, I still didn't think that Matthew was safe in the water.  He didn't relish swimming and shied away from anywhere but the side of the pool.

Tomorrow, MatMat  will have his last day of private lessons with Mr. Fred, an older, gray haired gay man with a tan who  I’ll  credit  for teaching MatMat this one   crucial  life skill. 

Mr.  Fred

Fred is an easy going guy who greets Matt everyday by asking what he ate for breakfast and by joking about how Matt had his staple raisin bread or his waffles again.  He coaches him to share what he liked to do at home, about his video games and  his biking and his birthday. He knew buddy-speak. He would stop and buddy-speak with Matt on the side while Matt catches his breath.

When I saw Matthew today reach his arms high and breathe on the side all the way across the pool without having to resort to his panicky stroke, it made me applaud with pride.  After three summers of swimming lessons, I am proud to announce that Matthew has learned how to swim.  He has  been empowered, again.

I think I know what made Fred succeed where others have failed.   He knew how to approach a child.  Mr. Fred was able to think like a seven-year-old. By redirecting Matthew’s mind to pleasant and fun things he helped calm his nerves, overcome his fear, and boost his confidence.

In Matthew’s eyes, the pool was a scary place, and though he may know the strokes, his fear paralyzed him. Thanks to a really good teacher, Matthew had a breakthrough.

Life, for all its wonder and delight, can be scary, especially to a child.

I could only hope to be a good teacher to my  son.  I  could only hope, as well, that MatMat  finds teachers and mentors that will help him not only to survive life but to really live!