Everyone takes swimming lessons, or so it seems. It was a common topic of conversation this spring at the preschool playground, my face-to-face link to popular culture. “What are you doing for swimming?” I was particularly interested in recommendations because it was important for Lily to learn to swim if we were to spend any time at the pool this year. Corin, being much less cautious than his sister, is too high-maintenance in the water for me to be comfortable watching both him and a sink-hazard Lily.
I found plenty of options through playground talk. The most economical possibilities were group lessons through the city, the Y, or our neighborhood. Of those, the neighborhood pool is by far the closest, but we did a group lesson there last summer, and it was $80 for eight public fits with no fault to the instructor. (Humorous side note: Lily's first ever dentist visit took place the same day as her first swim class. I thought that the swim lesson might be a fun reward for good behavior at the dentist. Wrong. She smiled like it was a party at the dentist and screamed like it was a horror movie at the pool.)
I did not want to repeat that experience, so the next idea was private lessons at the same pool. I thought that if she didn’t have to spend so much time waiting her turn, she would have less time to fuel her hyped-up anxieties, and, once in the water, she would realize that swimming could be fun. I was unsure, though, if the young coaches would be able to handle her initial fear. I tried to sound her out by asking “Do you want to learn how to swim this summer?” and she would say, “When I’m bigger.” Or I would ask, "Do you want to go to the pool," she'd say "Yes!" but when I would ask "Do you want to swim," she would immediately frown and say “no! never!”
There was another option geared specifically toward kids with water fears: a woman about 25 minutes west of town who taught group lessons in her backyard pool. Another mom recommended her as “the best $200 we ever spent,” saying that all of the kids in those classes go from screaming on day one to swimming alone across the deep end on day eight. That promise was definitely appealing, but the $200 ($250 since that mom had signed her daughter up) and the eight 25-minute drives were a barrier.
In a nutshell, then, the $250 teach-your-reluctant-child-to-swim class was prohibitively expensive, but the cheaper options might not address Lily’s stubborn fear of the water. The spring rolled by as I debated what to do, and I still could not decide. In May, though, we made plans to drive my grandmother down to my parents’ house in Corpus. My parents live on an acre in a sparsely populated neighborhood with a pool in their backyard. Lily could pitch a fit and I could respond without drawing attention to us. Why not try lessons of my own? If nothing else, they'd be free.
My mother-in-law had told me before of how my father-in-law taught all of their kids to swim. He would stand in the pool and ask the child to jump to him, getting farther and father away with each jump. It sounded like a nice plan, and it certainly worked for Matt, who learned to swim at age two, but I couldn’t get Lily to get her face wet, much less jump. I went online to research a bit, and, of course, found plenty of conflicting information. “Just be firm with them and make them do it,” some said. “Safety in the water is worth taking a hard line on.” “Never force your child in the water,” others asserted. “If you make swimming a power struggle and coerce the child against her will, fear of the water will scar her for life.” I admit that I was more tempted toward the firm approach but suitably cautioned by the soft one. Lily has a tendency to overdramatize and emphasize her fears, and I think that she needs to be guided--sometimes firmly-- to overcome this. She also, however, has a ridiculously retentive memory. What if I wounded her trust in me? The idea of a 20-something Lily telling me, "You know, you really freaked me out that summer in the pool" is not inconceivable.
After some further searching, I found a genuinely helpful website with suggested steps and activities for different age groups. Though Lily is four and a half, I started with the “Age 2-4” section We had our first session on a Tuesday. Lily was excited to be in the pool, but she still did not want to learn how to swim. I insisted that she had to learn, though, and started with one of the first activities: retrieving a toy from the steps. The idea is to drop a toy on the pool steps and have the child retrieve it. You start with the shallow steps and work down until the child has to go under water to complete the task. We found a Minnie Mouse toy inside, and Lily was happy enough to get it from the first two steps. On the third step, though, she predictably refused. I held her and told her that we were going to go under water together. She started pitching a fit, but I told her, “I’m counting to three.” One...two...three...under we went. She came up spluttering and crying and making a scene. I said, “I’m sorry that you’re upset, but we’re going to do it again. We’re doing it two more times.” We went under twice more, but the fit pitching stayed constant, and was made worse because she kept opening her mouth under water. I tried blowing in her face before we submerged and demonstrating to her myself, but she wanted to get out. More than anything, though, I wanted to avoid a big flop on our first try, so I refused to let her go, but told her that we would take a break from going under for a while and try other things. We went back to Minnie Mouse, and after a few shallow retrievals, I decided to take turns with her. “Here, Lily. You throw it for Mommy to get.” She threw it out into the deeper water, and I made a show of going under to get it. For her turn, I stuck to the shallow steps. For my turn, I urged her to throw it as far as she could. She laughed and obliged. After a while, I dropped Minnie to the third step for Lily’s turn without really mentioning it. “Your turn, Lily.” To my surprise, she let me hold her, and under she went. She did not get Minnie; she just went under and came quickly back up, but it was amazing all the same. I hugged her, showered her with praise, and took my turn next. About every other Lily turn, I would put Minnie on the third step, and Lily went for it every time. After several turns, she started going under all on her own. By the end of an hour or so, she had tried out the dolphin kickboard Mema had gotten her as long as I steadied it for her, and she had jumped to me from the pool steps.
After four or five days’ worth of work, Lily could also glide to me from the steps with her face in the water and kick holding on to my hands, sometimes putting her face down. She had not yet attained our goal of jumping in, coming up alone, and swimming to the side or steps, but our progress from the wretched start was tremendous. I wish I could say that we never had a setback, but we did. One day near the end of our trip, I pushed her a little too hard by letting go of her early in a glide. Instead of continuing to glide or kick, she panicked, and later that night, she said that she did not want to swim again the next day. But by letting her swim with my mom first, “just for fun,” and then coming in myself, “but just to play, not to work,” we got her comfortable again and still had a good lesson.
We have since been to both of our neighborhood pools here in Austin. The small water slide at the older pool is still her nemesis, and she had a bad try on it one day and refuses to go back, but the newer pool is a hit. A few weeks ago, she started kicking around with her kickboard unassisted, and this weekend, we made up a game called “rocket ships,” where we help her go under until her toes touch the bottom, and she jumps up out of the water as high as she can. She still doesn’t want to try to swim without at least one parent hand under her, but I think that she could do it if she tried. On the whole, it has not been an eight-day turnaround from screaming to deep-end swimming. We may not even hit the independent swimming goal by the end of the summer. But we have gone from “no! never!” to “more rocket ships! and though it has been a lot of work and has needed a lot of patience, it has been satisfying. I'd be proud to see her swim after eight lessons with someone else, but I have a different and deeper pride in watching her nearly swim after lessons from me.
Thinking back over the whole progression, I notice how my first instinct was to find an expert to instruct my kids. Being a yuppie mom in an even more yuppie neighborhood, I went along--without even noticing--with the idea that it is best to find classes or lessons for swimming. My job as mom is to find the “best” lessons, pay for them, and drive Lily there as often as needed. But, after all, I know how to swim as well as drive, and I know Lily better than anyone else. Why not have a go myself before entrusting the job to a stranger? There’s nothing wrong with swim lessons; but why assume that I need them as a default first choice? In future years when it’s time to learn strokes and techniques, I know that I’m out of my depth (pardon the pun), and lessons will be a must. But I can handle the introduction.
I think that this idea probably holds for other extra-curricular activities as well. How many kids are enrolled in how many lessons for things which their parents know how to do? I am not saying that parents who sign their kids up for classes are bad. I am also not saying that such lessons are bad. Most kids that I’ve seen enjoy their lessons, and it is perfectly natural that someone who knows an activity well should want to teach it professionally. What I’m saying is that parents don’t need to feel like they must sign up for classes and lessons if they want to introduce a skill to their children. It doesn’t have to be your job to find the “best” class for your child; it can be your job to be the class, if you want to be. I find this a bit liberating. I'm not planning on homeschooling or anything. (Good job, those of you who do, but I like to mix my parental instruction with public sorts.) But I think I needed the reminder that I can teach outside-the-house things to my kids. I'm not just here to supervise behavior and drive the minivan.
It’s sort of like a home improvement project. There are plenty of contractors and laborers out there who can do good work in your home, especially if money is not a hindrance. If you do it yourself, it is less expensive, but you can probably count on it taking longer, you might have to teach yourself a thing or two along the way, and it might not come out exactly as you planned. But when you finish, there is a pride of accomplishment that has a satisfaction apart from pride in nice work your money has paid for. This is our summer of DIY swimming. It's taking longer than 'real' lessons; it can be frustrating, and we're not done yet. But it's free and it's fun, and I'm proud of it. I feel like my nephew, Dylan, saying one of his favorite phrases: "I do it myself!"
I found plenty of options through playground talk. The most economical possibilities were group lessons through the city, the Y, or our neighborhood. Of those, the neighborhood pool is by far the closest, but we did a group lesson there last summer, and it was $80 for eight public fits with no fault to the instructor. (Humorous side note: Lily's first ever dentist visit took place the same day as her first swim class. I thought that the swim lesson might be a fun reward for good behavior at the dentist. Wrong. She smiled like it was a party at the dentist and screamed like it was a horror movie at the pool.)
I did not want to repeat that experience, so the next idea was private lessons at the same pool. I thought that if she didn’t have to spend so much time waiting her turn, she would have less time to fuel her hyped-up anxieties, and, once in the water, she would realize that swimming could be fun. I was unsure, though, if the young coaches would be able to handle her initial fear. I tried to sound her out by asking “Do you want to learn how to swim this summer?” and she would say, “When I’m bigger.” Or I would ask, "Do you want to go to the pool," she'd say "Yes!" but when I would ask "Do you want to swim," she would immediately frown and say “no! never!”
There was another option geared specifically toward kids with water fears: a woman about 25 minutes west of town who taught group lessons in her backyard pool. Another mom recommended her as “the best $200 we ever spent,” saying that all of the kids in those classes go from screaming on day one to swimming alone across the deep end on day eight. That promise was definitely appealing, but the $200 ($250 since that mom had signed her daughter up) and the eight 25-minute drives were a barrier.
In a nutshell, then, the $250 teach-your-reluctant-child-to-swim class was prohibitively expensive, but the cheaper options might not address Lily’s stubborn fear of the water. The spring rolled by as I debated what to do, and I still could not decide. In May, though, we made plans to drive my grandmother down to my parents’ house in Corpus. My parents live on an acre in a sparsely populated neighborhood with a pool in their backyard. Lily could pitch a fit and I could respond without drawing attention to us. Why not try lessons of my own? If nothing else, they'd be free.
My mother-in-law had told me before of how my father-in-law taught all of their kids to swim. He would stand in the pool and ask the child to jump to him, getting farther and father away with each jump. It sounded like a nice plan, and it certainly worked for Matt, who learned to swim at age two, but I couldn’t get Lily to get her face wet, much less jump. I went online to research a bit, and, of course, found plenty of conflicting information. “Just be firm with them and make them do it,” some said. “Safety in the water is worth taking a hard line on.” “Never force your child in the water,” others asserted. “If you make swimming a power struggle and coerce the child against her will, fear of the water will scar her for life.” I admit that I was more tempted toward the firm approach but suitably cautioned by the soft one. Lily has a tendency to overdramatize and emphasize her fears, and I think that she needs to be guided--sometimes firmly-- to overcome this. She also, however, has a ridiculously retentive memory. What if I wounded her trust in me? The idea of a 20-something Lily telling me, "You know, you really freaked me out that summer in the pool" is not inconceivable.
After some further searching, I found a genuinely helpful website with suggested steps and activities for different age groups. Though Lily is four and a half, I started with the “Age 2-4” section We had our first session on a Tuesday. Lily was excited to be in the pool, but she still did not want to learn how to swim. I insisted that she had to learn, though, and started with one of the first activities: retrieving a toy from the steps. The idea is to drop a toy on the pool steps and have the child retrieve it. You start with the shallow steps and work down until the child has to go under water to complete the task. We found a Minnie Mouse toy inside, and Lily was happy enough to get it from the first two steps. On the third step, though, she predictably refused. I held her and told her that we were going to go under water together. She started pitching a fit, but I told her, “I’m counting to three.” One...two...three...under we went. She came up spluttering and crying and making a scene. I said, “I’m sorry that you’re upset, but we’re going to do it again. We’re doing it two more times.” We went under twice more, but the fit pitching stayed constant, and was made worse because she kept opening her mouth under water. I tried blowing in her face before we submerged and demonstrating to her myself, but she wanted to get out. More than anything, though, I wanted to avoid a big flop on our first try, so I refused to let her go, but told her that we would take a break from going under for a while and try other things. We went back to Minnie Mouse, and after a few shallow retrievals, I decided to take turns with her. “Here, Lily. You throw it for Mommy to get.” She threw it out into the deeper water, and I made a show of going under to get it. For her turn, I stuck to the shallow steps. For my turn, I urged her to throw it as far as she could. She laughed and obliged. After a while, I dropped Minnie to the third step for Lily’s turn without really mentioning it. “Your turn, Lily.” To my surprise, she let me hold her, and under she went. She did not get Minnie; she just went under and came quickly back up, but it was amazing all the same. I hugged her, showered her with praise, and took my turn next. About every other Lily turn, I would put Minnie on the third step, and Lily went for it every time. After several turns, she started going under all on her own. By the end of an hour or so, she had tried out the dolphin kickboard Mema had gotten her as long as I steadied it for her, and she had jumped to me from the pool steps.
After four or five days’ worth of work, Lily could also glide to me from the steps with her face in the water and kick holding on to my hands, sometimes putting her face down. She had not yet attained our goal of jumping in, coming up alone, and swimming to the side or steps, but our progress from the wretched start was tremendous. I wish I could say that we never had a setback, but we did. One day near the end of our trip, I pushed her a little too hard by letting go of her early in a glide. Instead of continuing to glide or kick, she panicked, and later that night, she said that she did not want to swim again the next day. But by letting her swim with my mom first, “just for fun,” and then coming in myself, “but just to play, not to work,” we got her comfortable again and still had a good lesson.
We have since been to both of our neighborhood pools here in Austin. The small water slide at the older pool is still her nemesis, and she had a bad try on it one day and refuses to go back, but the newer pool is a hit. A few weeks ago, she started kicking around with her kickboard unassisted, and this weekend, we made up a game called “rocket ships,” where we help her go under until her toes touch the bottom, and she jumps up out of the water as high as she can. She still doesn’t want to try to swim without at least one parent hand under her, but I think that she could do it if she tried. On the whole, it has not been an eight-day turnaround from screaming to deep-end swimming. We may not even hit the independent swimming goal by the end of the summer. But we have gone from “no! never!” to “more rocket ships! and though it has been a lot of work and has needed a lot of patience, it has been satisfying. I'd be proud to see her swim after eight lessons with someone else, but I have a different and deeper pride in watching her nearly swim after lessons from me.
Thinking back over the whole progression, I notice how my first instinct was to find an expert to instruct my kids. Being a yuppie mom in an even more yuppie neighborhood, I went along--without even noticing--with the idea that it is best to find classes or lessons for swimming. My job as mom is to find the “best” lessons, pay for them, and drive Lily there as often as needed. But, after all, I know how to swim as well as drive, and I know Lily better than anyone else. Why not have a go myself before entrusting the job to a stranger? There’s nothing wrong with swim lessons; but why assume that I need them as a default first choice? In future years when it’s time to learn strokes and techniques, I know that I’m out of my depth (pardon the pun), and lessons will be a must. But I can handle the introduction.
I think that this idea probably holds for other extra-curricular activities as well. How many kids are enrolled in how many lessons for things which their parents know how to do? I am not saying that parents who sign their kids up for classes are bad. I am also not saying that such lessons are bad. Most kids that I’ve seen enjoy their lessons, and it is perfectly natural that someone who knows an activity well should want to teach it professionally. What I’m saying is that parents don’t need to feel like they must sign up for classes and lessons if they want to introduce a skill to their children. It doesn’t have to be your job to find the “best” class for your child; it can be your job to be the class, if you want to be. I find this a bit liberating. I'm not planning on homeschooling or anything. (Good job, those of you who do, but I like to mix my parental instruction with public sorts.) But I think I needed the reminder that I can teach outside-the-house things to my kids. I'm not just here to supervise behavior and drive the minivan.
It’s sort of like a home improvement project. There are plenty of contractors and laborers out there who can do good work in your home, especially if money is not a hindrance. If you do it yourself, it is less expensive, but you can probably count on it taking longer, you might have to teach yourself a thing or two along the way, and it might not come out exactly as you planned. But when you finish, there is a pride of accomplishment that has a satisfaction apart from pride in nice work your money has paid for. This is our summer of DIY swimming. It's taking longer than 'real' lessons; it can be frustrating, and we're not done yet. But it's free and it's fun, and I'm proud of it. I feel like my nephew, Dylan, saying one of his favorite phrases: "I do it myself!"
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| Jumping in...finally |
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| Face in the water! |
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| Taking her skills to the lake in Idaho. |
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