Swim Lessons

This past spring, I woke up in a cold sweat one morning. I was panicking. I didn't know where to turn. That's right, I realized that MY KIDS DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM!! OK, Perfect Eldest Son (Pes) swims OK and Zsa Zsa and Eva. . .well, let's just say that as of the beginning of summer, they were happy to buy many super cute bathing suits ("Oh, Zsa Zsa, look at this one!!! Isn't it sooooo cute??!!) but REALLY couldn't swim. And Gorby was what Big Shot Husband calls a "barnacle" in the pool. No explanation required (I hope).

You see, I was not able to think clearly about how to proceed because I was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after sending my three older kids to swim lessons at the local county pool almost two years prior (no I don't get over things quickly). Dragging three tired children after school (ages 4, 6, and 8) to the pool at 5PM, is never fun in any circumstance. But Zsa Zsa and Eva were particularly unlucky in the teacher they were given. Let's call him Meaniehead.

Every day after lessons (which we were not allowed to watch), I was regaled with tales of misbehavior of then-four-year-old Eva. And he would continually threaten to, "Kick her out," of the class. Seriously, what kind of teacher for the 4-6 year old crowd uses the words, "Kick her out." I mean, it's not like she was smoking in the bathroom, right?

I was finally asked to come and watch so I could see her misbehavior myself. I did notice that Eva tried to have fun and laugh a little more than the other children. But I didn't see anything that would warrant such admonitions. So I concluded that he just didn't like her. Even my mother-in-law agreed with me when I called her all huffy about the injustice and stuff. And she is really smart about these things.

But despite being constantly told how much she was misbehaving, getting timeouts on the stairs and threatened with expulsion, she was perfectly happy and felt she had done just great in swim lessons. The crowning moment was when I received her report card, which contained comments like, "Failed to complete any skills assigned. Needs basic water adjustment and should not enroll in any county class, EVER. May benefit from private instruction. But not from me." I sighed and tried to figure out how I would hide that from the Harvard admissions officers.

Then I called the pool manager and screamed and ranted and said Meaniehead was the worst swim teacher ever and he shouldn't be allowed around small children and how could he treat my precious Eva this way, and I am not a mom who usually calls about things but this was just the most egregious case of swim teacher malpractice I could ever imagine. "And," I concluded, "I am NEVER coming back to your pool." "Well," said Pool Manager, "I hear Pool X in the other part of the county has very good lessons. Good luck."

So this summer, I was finally able to take a deep breath and make a plan for how to get my three older kids swimming. Since we were planning a very extended break at the west coast home of my parents, I decided to sign Pes, Zsa Zsa and Eva up for swim lessons at the local county pool, a pool I used when I was a lass. It is beautiful and new and I was sure we would have a better experience than we had at our county program back home. The kids all spent some time in various pools before we left for our trip, and Zsa Zsa managed to learn to doggy paddle before we embarked on vacation.

So as I have sat watching lessons for the past week, I have been quite pleased. First, it is a perfect 75 degrees and sunny each day so it is pleasant to sit and watch. Second, I am allowed to sit and watch. Third, the lessons run like a German train station, with a loudspeaker announcing, "1030 lessons are beginning." Then "1100 lessons are beginning, 1030 lessons leave the pool." And lickety split, their teacher disappears from the premises. Seriously, I don't even see her leave the pool and I keep trying to find her all over the place. I think she apparates.

And, speaking of teachers, Meaniehead was nothing to look at, believe you me. He was chubby and could have used a manzier, if you know what I'm getting at. The swim teachers at the pool where we are taking lessons now in small town west coast USA are, yes, a little like commandants. But they are cute, have long legs and zero percent body fat. And somehow, Eva has managed to get hers to pay attention mostly to her though there are seven kids in the class. But in a good way. I wish I could see Meaniehead now and say, "See, she can swim. See, Miss Teen USA could teach her and be nice to her and call her, 'Sweetie.' See, you totally need a manzier." But it's not like I'm holding a grudge or anything.