Learning to Swim, But I Ain't Got Flippers

I'm far away from the event to write about it, but on the day the event happened I summoned every molecule in my body to remain calm. How I managed is a mystery.

Our neighborhood pool is wonderful. Even on the hottest days during the week, there aren't many people in it. We all come at different times. Sure, Friday nights, weekends can be full, but even that allows for more socializing and playmates for the kids. Last week, we swam with just one other family, a mom with her two daughters. Phill met me and swam with the girls as I splashed with Finwe, floating along with water wings.

The boy reached his limit of swimming and asked to play on the swings and slide. I agreed and left to get his change of clothes. Finwe requested to wait on the side of the pool. Sure, I answered, thinking he would remain on the top step. My first two mistakes, trusting the word of a two-year-old and taking the water wings off while he sat on the step. Let me remind you that Finwe's dad was in the pool, not a few feet away from the steps dealing with the zealous, loud Larien. (Inwe doesn't need our help with any swimming, only for indicating that she is drop-dead tired.)

I leave the step, walk the short distance to the bag of clothes, and return. To get back to the steps of the pool, I have to walk twenty feet under a cabana. At the edge of the cabana, Finwe kicked nicely on the step making small splashes. I looked down to avoid an errant toy. When my gaze returned to the pool, Finwe no longer sat on the step.

Instead, three or four feet from the step his body bobbed in the water, his neck bent backwards to keep his mouth above the liquid. Finwe made no sounds. His kicks took all his energy. I screamed at Phill to get him. The other mom realized what was happening and grabbed Finwe to her hip, saving him. I'd leaped into the pool already and gathered him to me. Breathing deeply, I soothed his worries.

Both Phill and Anne, the other mom, couldn't believe that Finwe had gotten in the water without them noticing. I hadn't heard a splash. Although I watched him all but a few seconds (honest), I didn't see him go in the water.

The entire time that I soothed his tears, I remained calm. My heart beat a different rhythm, though. No, he wasn't close to drowning, but knowing that and seeing your non-swimming child in the water by himself are two different beasts.

Later, much later, I asked Finwe if he fell in or if he chose to jump in the water. He chose his words carefully.

"I jumped in. Yeah. I wanted to swim by myself. I couldn't swim. I kicked, and someone else saved me."

We discussed that he wasn't ready to swim by himself, but that we would work on it during the summer. He promised that he wouldn't do it again.

Trusting the word of a two-year-old, my boy? Not a mistake I will make again.