Learning to Swim in Shallow Water

You Can Make It If You Try

It was June 1969, I was 11 years old, learning how to swim at the neighborhood park pool.

Not particularly athletic or even interested in being athletic, swimming sounded fun and mom wanted me to learn so I wouldn’t drown as we (well, mom and daddy) had joined our first (and last) country club, with a golf course and a pool with a deep end. She almost drowned in a river when she was my age and her friend died, so this was an important safety course, not for fun.

We had moved into a new neighborhood, with a newly built house with a double wide garage door that opened like magic with the push of a button on a gadget that clipped to the visors over the dashboard.

The park pool was in our old neighborhood, about 4 miles away. Lessons were being given at the beginning of the summer and mom signed me up. She did not drive at the time, so we would begin walking every morning at 8a.m. to make it to lessons at 9a.m.

Out of the subdivision, we crossed the busy two-lane road, over to the hill to the main road, where a continuous sidewalk would lead us straight to the park. So, no worries about getting lost.

We walked along, me in my new one-piece bathing suit, it was red, white and blue, with a long, shirt coverup, carrying my towel, and my long hair pulled back in a scraggly ponytail.

It was a cheerful walk even if it was hot and poor mom was sweating profusely.

Upon arrival, a crowd of kids and parents were in line to get in the pool gate.

I immediately noticed the kids all looked athletic.

I felt inadequate.

My arms and legs were long and lanky and flailing would be so obvious.

Everyone will look at me and make fun.

I wanted to be small and unnoticeable.

It did not help that the pool was enormous. So huge. With a rope line in the middle separating the deep end from the shallow. With two diving boards way up in the air.

And I was afraid of pools with deep ends. And heights over 6ft.

Deep as in, over 4 feet, as I was almost 5 feet, and liked having my head out of the water.

And a rumor was already going around my group that we had to dive off the board at the end of the lessons.

Already anxiety-ridden, the swim lesson seemed like a bad idea. And realizing I had to get in this giant pool and take off my swimsuit cover, in front of all these instructors and kids, I wanted to go home.

I turned to poor sweaty mom and said, “I don’t want to do this. Can we go home?”

“What do you mean you don’t want to do this and want to go home?”, mom said in a not so cheery voice.

“I mean, I just don’t want to do this, can we go home?”, said I, not knowing how to express the real nervous feeling I was having about fitting in, and possibly drowning on my first day.

Her backstory was motivating but equally terrifying.

“Oh, no, we aren’t going home! I didn’t sign you up and pay for classes and walk all this way in the heat, to have you not even try! You will take this lesson whether you want to or not!”, mom said, sweating profusely.

So, I had to do this.

‘This’ was of course the swim lesson.

I saw it more as an entity I wanted to avoid.

Whistles blew, and instructors sectioned us off by age and I found myself with a group of kids that were clearly excited about doing this.

Sitting on the side of the pool, in 2 feet of water, our first assignment was to dangle our feet in the water.

So far so good.

Feet dangling accomplished, we now had to lower ourselves into the water and stand.

My head would be out of the water, so I could do this.

The water was cold, yikes! But I stood there shivering and proud.

Next, we had to close our mouths, hold our breath and put our faces to the water, lightly dunking and repeat.

I don’t even want to admit to how long it took me to even try to do this, I just stood there.

“What if I go in too far? What if I fall and dunk myself and swallow water?”

All the other kids were getting this done lickety-split, being all athletic and everything, so I was pretty much the last holdout to moving to the next step.

I heard mom from the sidelines yelling, “Diane, just put your nose in the water!”

Great, now everyone knew my name.

That was motivation to dunk my head.

I lowered my head, held my breath, closed my mouth, my face was at the water and my nose went under.

I popped up so excited that I didn’t die!

Mom was proud.

Next, we had to take our heads all the way under the water. Your hair had to be wet to the crown to master this step.

I dreaded doing it, but knowing mom would call me out, after several attempts, my head went under, and while I absolutely hated the feeling, I was glad I got it out of the way.

Only to find out we had to repeat.

Again, and again, until we could do it without coughing or screaming, or should I say, until I.

It had to be done, I had to do it right and I had to get it done.

Or, I could have just stood there and refused, which is what I wanted to do.

Swim lessons weren’t fun, they were scary, and I was embarrassed in my bathing suit and I just wanted to go home.

Yes, the way to go home was to get this done.

And I did, after several attempts, make a smooth head dunk.

I admit I felt proud and mom could see her kid wasn’t a quitter after all.

As we walked home, we said little, but she did say she expected me to try harder tomorrow.

This was a 5 day course.

Four more days. Walking 8 miles a day.

A story I can tell my grandchildren about how hard it was in my day to just get to the park for swim lessons.

They will ask”, Grandmother, did you learn to swim, after all you went through?”

Well…

By the end of the week, by mastering the dog paddle, I had earned my water wings, the bright orange or yellow air-filled rubber half-sleeves, worn at the bicep, that would keep us afloat. With the help of them, I learned to float on my back and stomach.

The stomach was the hardest challenge as my face and ears were in the water. It was the last step I accomplished.

The other kids had moved to the deeper end midweek.

The instructor allowed me to stay in the 4 ft part and float around with my water wings the rest of the lessons.

Some kids made it onto the diving board, by choice, it was not part of the program.

All learned how to properly swim.

So, to answer future grandchildren, “No, I did not learn to properly swim. I was afraid to have my water wings off.”

“Was your mommy mad at you?”, they ask.

“Well, no. She knew I did the best I could.”

“But you didn’t even try to swim without your water wings!”, they said disappointed.

It did seem like I didn’t try hard enough.

If I had just tried harder, I would have learned to swim in the right form, with strength to get across the long side of the pool in water over my head, like the other kids.

Wasn’t that the reason mom and I made that walk for 5 days, over that hill, in the blazing sun?

“Well, I think it is important to know that I wasn’t like the other kids.

It just wasn’t my time to try harder.

I was shy, awkward, and afraid of water. I had overcome many fears to get to my water wings and the accomplishment was measurable to my abilities.

It is important to know when to be satisfied with accomplishments and when to take the next step.

In other words, not everyone learns how to play a piano just because they try, but those with a knack for it, and it brings them joy, will continue to learn, always trying a little harder for a purpose.”

As far as learning to swim, it is an important safety measure to accomplish. I had to try harder, with a finite goal to learn how to properly swim. That summer, my friend at the small pool at the country club, showed me how to swim.

Moral of the story?

You can make it by trying step, by step, but don’t get in over your head.