From Goldfish To Jellyfish

I used to be a swim instructor, back in the day. I was trained by the Red Cross, and enjoyed how easy it was to teach a group of kids to swim in just 10 half-hour lessons. I remember the first group of swimmers,  aged 3-5, who I'd taught to kick, taught to stroke, then had them put it together, and holy crap! It worked! They made it across the pool! I continued teaching both group and private lessons, including working with an older girl (8, maybe 10?) who'd had a scary experience in the water. Her first lesson was just getting her toes wet and showing her that it didn't hurt. Her final lesson was learning to dive in 9 feet of water. Such an awesome experience.

I'd noticed with my nieces and nephews that I wasn't very effective at teaching them to swim. So it was no surprise to me that I wasn't effective with Tyler either. For a couple of summers, we put him in the lessons at the YMCA, and were frustrated at the lack of progress. Too many kids, too close to naptime, and pretty abysmal instructors for the most part. Tyler was able to get in and out of the water, and tolerated submerging so long as it was on his terms. That's it. That's all he learned after three seasons of lessons.

This spring, Tyson's co-worker told him that "DeMont's expensive, but they'll get the job done." So in April, Tyler started lessons there. This is a small, indoor pool. It's like a swim factory for kids. It's the most efficient thing I've seen! A long narrow hallway greets you, then you go through more double doors to access the front desk. The front desk staff give Tyler a color-coded bracelet, then we go sit in the observation area and read children's books about ocean creatures until it's time for his lesson. (Side note - I am so grateful to Tyson for helping me with time management skills! Getting to places with time to relax is fantastic.) About 2 minutes to the hour, the people in the front two rows jump out of their chairs and push past each other to get to the showers and dressing rooms. That's when we send Tyler to join the line by the entrance door. The kids in the water exit the pool through an exit door that leads to the showers and dressing room. The kids in line enter through the entry door, which is designed to prevent children from opening it, inside or out. Once they're in, they can't escape! The deck manager quickly sorts the kids according to their bracelet color, sending them to areas 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5. There's also a small pool for the parent/infant classes, that's the only reason parents enter the pool area. Once, at Tyler's second lesson, he didn't want to enter the pool area, and was crying up a storm,  and the deck manager told me, "Don't worry, we do this all the time. I just need you to hand him to me, so I'm not pulling him off of you." "And then you want me to leave, right?" "Yeah, just go back out there and try to look happy." No problem. Sure enough, his instructor quickly got him to laugh by putting toys on her head, and he had a successful lesson. No tears since. The deck manager observes the different areas of the pool, checking off the skills as the kids complete them. He or she periodically comes out to the observation room to talk to parents about their kids' progress. Then, about 2 minutes before the lesson ends, the parents bolt from the chairs to line up in the shower/dressing room area. Which is silly, because the kids may or may not line up in an order that will facilitate the parents' goal of getting dressed quickly. Especially if they've just received a ribbon for completing a new skill or class. At any rate, the kids line up by the exit door, so they head straight to the showers and dressing rooms, keeping the rest of the facility pretty dry, while the new kids are lined up at the entrance door. No traffic jams, no kids wiping out on wet floors. Some parents ignore the plaques on the wall that say, "Please do not reserve dressing rooms." Scarcity of resources can bring out the worst in people. But lately, people have been pretty neighborly. Nobody uses shampoo or soap, kids just rinse off and get dressed. The culture of efficiency is prevalent in this place.

Tyler spent his first two lessons in Area 1 with Sarah, for the Tadpole class, with a red bracelet. Then he graduated to Goldfish. Area 2.  A grey bracelet. With Alec. And there he stayed, from April until August. I was bummed when he didn't pass the class at the end of May, because his goal was to use the water slide at the YMCA pool, and he hadn't yet learned the skills to swim out of the water slide landing area. At the end of June, I was slightly sadder. At the end of July, I was frustrated to the point of tears. How could it be that my child, MY child, was making such slow progress at swimming??? I tried to remind myself - "He's getting only 30 minutes a week. 4 times a month. I had those kids for 30 minutes a day, two weeks in a row." One day I said to Tyson, "You know, I swam my first race when I was four and a half. 25 yards. I finished last but I finished. Tyler's almost four and a half and he can't even swim three feet!"

I began to dread Saturday mornings. The difference between DeMont's strategy and the Red Cross strategy is that the Red Cross is more focused on teaching kids to swim, and if they don't get one skill, they can learn other skills. Can't float yet? Still teach the kid to kick and stroke. Whereas at DeMont, the levels are broken down in such a way that if the kid isn't drown-resistant yet, they don't learn to kick and stroke.

Tyler's specific challenge was diving (belly flopping) into the pool, perform a front float, then flip to his back and perform a back float without panicking. Excellent drown-proofing skill, clearly meant to simulate a kid falling in and knowing how to survive. But he would either jump in feet first, and then not be able to get himself into a horizontal position, or he would lift his head, causing his feet to sink, panic, and be unable to attain a back float position. He was goofing off quite a bit during the lessons, and we could see the teacher becoming frustrated, yet we couldn't intervene. So Tyson gave him a good pep talk one day, about listening to the instructor, working hard, doing the skill and earning a ribbon. Tyler worked hard that lesson, made a lot of progress, but exited the pool crying. We asked what was wrong. "I'm in trouble!" "Why are you in trouble?" "I didn't get a ribbon!" Oops. Clearly we needed to calibrate our pep talks - it was not our intention for him to be so hard on himself!

We continued with the pep talks each week just prior to the lesson. Finally one day, we saw the deck manager really watching him, and making the three sign with her fingers - she wanted Tyler to repeat the skill three more times. We held our breath, He'd done it perfectly the first time. He looked at us, and we gave him the thumbs up. He began splashing water. When his turn came up again, he lifted his head too soon again. They had him repeat the skill several times, and each time he lifted his head too soon and couldn't attain the floating position. The deck manager came out and spoke to us - "He's close. He's really close. He just needs to be consistent, and he doesn't trust it yet." I admitted to Tyson, "I had no idea I'd be such a soccer mom about this." But I have hope that it's just specific to swimming. Is it because I see it as an essential survival skill? Because I used to teach it? Because I want him to join me in scuba diving one day? Because I love the beach so much and want him to love it too? I think it's a combination of all of these, and I have hope that the survival skill factor is the main one. Our dream is to own a house with a backyard pool, so it seems more essential than ever.

At any rate, the following week, we again gave Tyler a pep talk. He focused. He demonstrated the skill flawlessly, three times in a row. They even made it a little harder for him, having him in a prone float, flip to his back, back to his stomach, and to his back yet again. He worked hard, did a great job, used his stomach and leg muscles, and proudly accepted his ribbon. Seeing the smile on his face was priceless.

Last Sunday he started his first lesson as a Jellyfish. Area 3. Orange bracelet. With Justin. He was  so proud of his orange bracelet. Last Sunday, at his very first Jellyfish lesson, we saw him learn the arm movements for the front crawl. Then the arm strokes for elementary back stroke. Then kicking with a kickboard, flutterkick on his front and then on his back. Finally, we saw him learn dolphin kick. Dolphin kick??? So soon??? How exciting! (And why not? Teach the kids before they lose their flexibility in their hips/become too modest to move their butts up and down.) They had the kids wear goggles. Knowing sharing goggles can lead to eye infections, I told Tyson, "We need to get him his own pair." The optician agreed. Tyler was so happy to learn he would get a pair of goggles of his own by the next lesson.

Today, we asked Tyler if he'd like to go to the big pool. He was excited to go. He was excited to wear his new goggles.We played with him, including having him dive for a dive ring, and tried to get him to practice the fall in/front float/back float skill. He refused. "I just want to play." Tyson turned his back to Tyler, facing me. And Tyler swam away. Front crawl. Seriously. Alternating arms, flutter kick, all combined. Tyson got to see it, too. Spontaneously, Tyler swam four or five feet, all by himself, with no prompting from us.

Tomorrow will be lesson number two in the Jellyfish class. Monday is Labor Day, the last day the water slide will be open. I don't know if he'll be a strong enough swimmer to go down the slide by then. But he sure is close. And happy. And proud. So am I.