The swimmer.

Every summer when I was a kid, going to the pool was one of my very favorite things to do. From early in the morning to dinnertime, we would hang out at the pool, swim and get burnt---unless we were playing baseball or hanging out with friends. I do have reminders on my shoulders of all the days spent at the pool---back before sunscreen was the norm, we didn’t wear anything to protect our skin.

Even though I went to the pool a lot, I really didn’t swim---I used to love to jump off the diving board and of course watch others jump waiting for someone to do a belly flop, jackknife, or cannon ball and splash anyone who was near by. Those were the fun days at the pool in Westbury Manor.

I am sure they had a swim team, I was not on it, but I really don’t remember any of my friends being even remotely interested in getting up early to swim laps and waste the opportunity to sleep in. Who would want to?

But things have changed. Two of our daughters are on our local swim team. They wake up early, well before 7AM, one rides her bike the other is taken by car. Why? Because they like it. It’s amazing when you see how much they improve over the course of a summer; our 13 year old has really developed into a good swimmer. She is long, lean, and has big feet. I am not being mean, she really does have big feet and they help her kick up a storm when she rips through the water. Our younger daughter just chugs along with one objective in mind during the meets, she wants to know, “What place did I come in?” After every race they give you a ribbon--- and this is what she looks forward to. This past week, she got her first, first place ribbon. (Don’t ask me how, it’s a “don’t ask” how many people were in the race scenario.)

Just like other sports, you have parents who believe---and want---their kids to be the next Michael Phelps or Olympic star. They stand over the edge and wait for their son or daughter to come within shouting distance, even though their heads are under water depending on the stroke, and yell at the top of their lungs. If it were up to me, I would encourage them to join the G.A.L. club. (As in “Get. A. Life.”)

What I always admire, and I do try to do the same, is when a parent lets them know they did a good job no matter what place they ended up coming in at the end of the race. During one race last week, Izzy (who is 13 and looks at least 16) was on the starting block---and when the signal went off to start the race, she just stood there. She didn’t jump in for at least a second or two. I laughed because that’s so Izzy--- but I think other parents thought I was being mean. For someone who didn’t start at the same time as the other swimmers, she made up a lot of distance and actually came in second place. When I told her coming in second was amazing based upon her “start”, she said, “My time was 10 seconds more than last time.” I assured her the 6 other girls she out swam would be more than happy to change places with her—she rolled her eyes.

The photo above is of our 7 year old; with her hair tucked into her “Gators” swim cap, and her ears sticking out, she looks like every other kid at the pool---except for the one who is going to carry the blue ribbon home to the parents who are sure they will be seeing them on NBC in the 2016 Olympics. We love summer---just the way it is, if only it stayed longer.

Thanks for stopping by.