It’s no secret that one of my biggest fears (behind tornadoes, of course) is the possibility of one of my children drowning. It’s up there in the recurring nightmare department, where I watch as one of my children (or sometimes all three) sinks down into deep murky water, sometimes after crashing into this imagined body of water with the car, other times falling in from high above, and still other times, sliding slowly from a muddy bank… you get the idea.

It’s a completely unfounded fear, aside from the crystal clear memory of my father sharing a memory of his own childhood near-drowning at a pool. I have somehow incorporated his story into my own memory bank, as though he passed the actual memory on to me through the story. Memory is a funny thing. Funny enough that I now have a memory of being there with him, facing him underwater, a child of maybe 6 or 7, maybe slightly older, as his slender body floated slowly down deeper, peacefully, toward the bottom of the pool before strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up to the surface to safety just in time. I could see the peace on his face as he gave in to some kind of calm overtaking him. And I can also remember him telling me that he had suddenly been struck with a side cramp that left him unable to swim himself to safety. It left me with a strong sense of the danger and beauty of the underwater world.

So imagine my surprise, when, as a mother, I sit back and enjoy the slow and sometimes scary process of my youngest child learning how to swim. There has been, with each of my boys, a slow figuring-out stage rather than rigorous swim lessons. The biggest impact has been exposure, not lessons. I watched from a safe distance (first right beside, then a few feet away, then from the edge of the kiddie pool, and finally from a chair perched on the pool deck) as each one tested his breath-holding and underwater movement. I observed as this turned to walking on hands in the shallow part of the pool, legs kicking behind and holding head up high above the water. Then dipping the face in, again and again. Then hopping up and down in the deeper water, bobbing and bouncing. After this, bobbing and dropping under, and popping back up again… and finally, the arms and legs kicking, holding breath and paddling with legs underneath, then behind, then propelling forward with pride and joy and a sudden “ah ha!” and all the wide world is before them.

It happens when they are ready, when they are brave and comfortable, like everything else they will need to learn. It can happen through intensive swimming lessons and classes, and under a time crunch I understand and respect the value. But it can also happen slowly, organically, and completely and totally under their own control. We chose the latter, a slow-to-swim method that trusts in the natural progression of things. It has been beautiful to watch.

And here, Emil, on one of his very first underwater swims:

He is getting there! And he is so proud of himself.