David's First Swimming Lesson
Having passed through the holidays and come out the other side well-rested, despite the fact that we either were company or had company nearly ever day of my vacation, I return again to this Web log with a report on David's very first swimming lesson.
Today was blisteringly cold, a few degrees below zero when we left the house, and certainly not weather to put one in the mind for swimming. Still, David was excited, as he always is when he and I hit the road, and was working very hard to say the words "pool" and "swimming." They sounded like "oo" and "swih."
I'd gotten him lessons at the Y for Christmas, although in retrospect this seems as much a gift for me as for him, because we had such a terrific time together. We got changed and took our rinse-off shower in the locker room's big multi head shower area; which puzzled him a good deal. He gave me the eyebrow raise, but was otherwise unperturbed.
From there we went down to the pool, where a mass of mothers, fathers and babies, toddlers and kids of all ages were gathered for lessons in groups of Shrimp and Pike. (David is a Shrimp.)
David took easily to the water; I could tell he trusted me and it felt good beyond description: he put his mouth under water and blew bubbles, cupped his hands and paddled and even sat on the edge of the pool and jumped into my arms. In fact, that last bit was his favorite part, and he insisted on doing it over and over.
In all, the swimming lasted a half an hour. The expedition took nearly an hour and half. The drying off, the dressing, the bundling up, the packing of gear, the rigging up of belts and buckles for the car seat, all these things take a long time because everything is still so new for David, and he wants to see each thing, examine it, start toward understanding it. And he's teaching me not to rush either, to savor moments. I've often been guilty of spending whole days with my mind flung far into the future or anchored to some object of the past; I am less guilty of that now. I can see each of these moments as the gifts that they are, and I want to be as aware of them as possible. And when I really am, they're as new for me as they are for David.
Yes, indeed Merry Christmas David, and Merry Christmas Dad.
Having passed through the holidays and come out the other side well-rested, despite the fact that we either were company or had company nearly ever day of my vacation, I return again to this Web log with a report on David's very first swimming lesson.
Today was blisteringly cold, a few degrees below zero when we left the house, and certainly not weather to put one in the mind for swimming. Still, David was excited, as he always is when he and I hit the road, and was working very hard to say the words "pool" and "swimming." They sounded like "oo" and "swih."
I'd gotten him lessons at the Y for Christmas, although in retrospect this seems as much a gift for me as for him, because we had such a terrific time together. We got changed and took our rinse-off shower in the locker room's big multi head shower area; which puzzled him a good deal. He gave me the eyebrow raise, but was otherwise unperturbed.
From there we went down to the pool, where a mass of mothers, fathers and babies, toddlers and kids of all ages were gathered for lessons in groups of Shrimp and Pike. (David is a Shrimp.)
David took easily to the water; I could tell he trusted me and it felt good beyond description: he put his mouth under water and blew bubbles, cupped his hands and paddled and even sat on the edge of the pool and jumped into my arms. In fact, that last bit was his favorite part, and he insisted on doing it over and over.
In all, the swimming lasted a half an hour. The expedition took nearly an hour and half. The drying off, the dressing, the bundling up, the packing of gear, the rigging up of belts and buckles for the car seat, all these things take a long time because everything is still so new for David, and he wants to see each thing, examine it, start toward understanding it. And he's teaching me not to rush either, to savor moments. I've often been guilty of spending whole days with my mind flung far into the future or anchored to some object of the past; I am less guilty of that now. I can see each of these moments as the gifts that they are, and I want to be as aware of them as possible. And when I really am, they're as new for me as they are for David.
Yes, indeed Merry Christmas David, and Merry Christmas Dad.
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