Learning to Swim

By Henry Adams

“He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches.”

George Bernard Shaw

When I was two years old, my parents took me to Florida and my father threw me into the ocean.  My mother was horrified.  "She'll drown" she screamed as she watched me swept away by a giant wave.  My father smiled knowingly.  "No, she won't," he said.  "Swimming is as natural as breathing to a baby.  She'll rise to the surface and begin swimming like a fish."

After several tense moments, my mother recalled the labor she had invested to bring me forth and she panicked.  "We've lost her!" she exclaimed. "If you don't go get her, I will!"

"You can't swim!" shouted my father and galloped into the sea.

He managed to locate me among the fallen starfish and floating seaweed and pull me out of the water by the seat of my soggy diapers. He smacked the water out of my lungs and scowled at my mother.  "I just don't understand it," he said.  "Any normal child would have begun swimming right away.  She must take after you, Ida. "

I spit up another load of water and my mother grabbed me from him. "That's the last time you'll get your hands on my daughter," she snarled.  "You almost killed her."

I have been afraid of the water ever since.

"Swimming is a necessary skill, " said my father.  "I think we should send her to camp.  They'll be able to teach her there."

"She doesn't like sports," said my mother. "I can't see any reason why we should force her. I can't swim and I've survived, haven't I?"

At camp, my aquatic progress was amazing  at first.  I put my head under water, I blew bubbles and I even tread water.  But then we got to test seven and that was the test that did me in.   Test Seven demanded that the student jump off the dock into the water.  "I'm right here!" said the swimming teacher.  "And Jeremy and Rhoda are in the water waiting to catch you, Lynnie Ruth.  Now jump."

I spent the remainder of the eight weeks at camp, shivering on the dock or eating grass while everyone else played tennis.  That ended my camping career and my father's dreams of having another Esther Williams in the family.

Everyone in my American high school was required to take swimming during their freshman year to graduate.  I was determined to by-pass this requirement.  I gave the problem a great deal of very concentrated thought and at last hit upon my marvellous idea.  I reported to my first swimming class and I smiled at the teacher.  "I can't go in the water, today," I said.  "It's my time of the month."

The teacher nodded and I ascended to the balcony to watch all the other fools in my class shiver and choke on the chlorinated water in the pool.  We had physical education three times a week and each time I reported for swimming, I explained that I couldn't go into the water.  At first, the instructor only nodded and I climbed up to the balcony with a hot novel hidden in my book bag.  In mid November, the teacher's eyes filled with pity and she took my hand in hers.  "Cramps?" she asked.

I nodded. 

"Have you seen a doctor?" she asked.

I nodded again.  "I think I'll probably bleed for a long time," I said.  "He thinks I ruptured something."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed the teacher.

The next thing I knew I was enrolled in volley ball with four other students one of whom was so pregnant that I was sure she'd drop the baby the next time she lunged for the ball.

Life deals us strange cards and my senior year in high school I became the drama counsellor for a low income camp. Every member of the staff was required to stand guard for General Swim.  Twice each day, I donned a designer bathing suit that had never seen any water but that in the washing machine and I gazed out at the swimming children in my care.  If I noticed anyone going under and not appearing after an appropriate period of time, I would nudge the counsellor nearest me and point.  "I think there's a kid under there," I'd say and watch with interest when he dived into the water and pulled the child to safety.

One day, a tiny six year old named Susan Hartman asked me to teach her swim.  I couldn't very well explain that I hadn't the faintest notion of what to do in the water other than soap up a washcloth, so I said. "Sure, honey" and began to recite all the directions I had heard over and over again through my agonising years at the side of a pool or standing on a windy dock.  Susan followed my instructions exactly and seemed to remain afloat long enough to get to the mess hall for lunch. I was very proud of us both.

Ten years later, I was sunbathing beside the pool at our country club when a sixteen year old Susan Hartman ran up to me and threw her arms around me.  "Oh, Lynnie!" she said.  "Stay right where you are!  I can't wait to show you my swimming!"

I took off my sunglasses and embraced her.  "I'd love to watch you!" I said.  "I'll bet you're a regular little mermaid!"

She nodded.  "I am!" she said.  "I really am!"

I followed her to the side of the pool and she put on her bathing cap.  "Just watch!" she shouted and plunged head first into the water.  I stepped back to avoid getting drenched, amazed at the numbers of bubbles and rolling waves Susan created as she lashed across the water.  She plowed like a shipwrecked submarine from one end of the pool to the other spouting water like a beached whale.  Her legs moved faster than an electric egg beater and her arms resembled two ferris wheels off their belt. 

I was fascinated.

At last, dripping, snivelling and red eyed, Susan crawled out of the foaming pool and ran over to me.  "Well!" she said.  "What do you think?"

I embraced her and tried to wipe away the water dripping into her eyes.  "That was simply wonderful, honey!" I said.  "I am so proud of you!  Has your teacher seen how good you are?"

Susan stopped smiling and looked puzzled.  "Don't you remember?" she asked and there was a distinct catch in her voice.

I shook my head.  "I can't say that I do," I said.  "Who taught you to swim?

"What a silly question!" she exclaimed.  "You did!"

A teacher can never tell where his influence stops.