Floundering Lessons

Well with the run of 90 degree temperatures you know it is time for that annual rite of passage during the summer, swimming lessons, or in our case, floundering lessons.

Now the boys and I have done a wonderful job of presenting a united front when it comes to the topic of getting a small aluminum fishing boat for all the "men" in the family to use. I am really proud how we have stuck it out even in the face of ultimate veto power, my wife. We have had many other "brilliant" ideas, in our estimation, shot down with little or no resistance when in the face of MOM. It's really something to watch, the plan is concocted in the basement between me and the 3 boys, we sound it off each other, try to think of all the counters, then march upstairs to battle. It usually takes about 4.7 seconds for my wife to either sidetrack the boys with something else, or proceed to tear our plans to shreds by pointing out the many flaws, the biggest usually involving insurance premiums. But not this time. We have remained strong under a heavy barrage of anti-fun artillery. We are really getting to her because she brought out the weapon of mass destruction as a final resort. That's right, she finally relented and fell back on, you can get a boat, but first.........you all have to learn how to swim. Talk about kamikaze warfare. She hit the boys right where they are the softest, in the water. I didn't realize the extent of this torpedo shot until I showed up on the first day of "floundering lessons".

It might not have happened exactly like this but this is what I remember as a kid when my sister and I were "enrolled". Swimming lessons lasted everyday for about 12 weeks and 8 hours a day. We would be told to ride our bikes at 8:00 in the morning, over to the pool and wait for our lessons to begin. So we rode the mile and half to the pool and waited for an hour or so until it was our turn. We worked our way through beginners, advanced beginners, intermediates, jr. life-saving, etc. After a couple hours in the pool, we would get back on our bikes, ride over to a friends, and after they were ready, ride back to the pool and wait until the pool opened for the afternoon. We would stay there all afternoon, taking a forced break at 3:00 that the lifeguards said was "the law", eat a Marathon bar and drink a Dr. Pepper, then get back in until they closed at 5:00. Well, things have changed.

I showed up for the first day of my kids lessons, and it was something like this: The 6 and 7 year old are in Polywogs, or whatever the very lowest class is along with all the other 4 year olds. Great. This sends a jitter through me, as a proud father, I expect to see a couple of Michael Phelps' out there. Not the case. I walk over to where my wife is sitting with some other friends and notice that they are all having a great time watching our boys take on their own personal demons in 3 feet of water. I tell myself, it's the first day they will get the hang of it and soon be on their way to ducklings, or whatever is next. Not so. I focus on what's happening in the pool and come to the unfortunate realization that there are three instructors for the class, one with the 7 year old, one with the 6 year old, and one with all the other kids. So they need a little one on one attention with this new stroke they are learning, no they need the attention because they aren't going to let go of the side! I'm starting to sweat a little bit. Fortunately, the class only lasts half an hour. When it is over, the boys get out and I see that all the other kids are wet from head to toe while my kids are dry from the eyeballs up. Their mother gives them words of encouragement and tells them we will be getting them goggles after swim lessons to help with the whole underwater thing. I try to say something but my throat is dry as a see mothers walking by smiling at how "cute" the non-amphibious ones are. My three year old is next, he wades right in. Now we are talking. Their assignment is to throw objects across the pool and go get them. My son makes a very strong showing, he throws more things than any other kid. OK, here's our chance at redemption, then it happens, one of the other kids throws a ball that glances off my kid's head. No blood no foul right, nope, my kid takes a swing at him. They are separated and the other parents settle in to see what is going to happen next. I gradually slink towards the door.

Swimming lessons last for two weeks, so I'm sure this story isn't over. Until then, we'll be out there, floundering away, thinking about the boat that could have been.