Miracle of Miracles

If you’ve read our story for any length of time, you know all about the problems we’ve had getting my 9-year-old daughter to swim.

Punky started out right on track. She began taking lessons at the age of four and by five she was very nearly swimming on her own.

And then her swimming instructor let her sink to the very bottom of the pool.

You can read all about that horrifying moment here. Years have passed since that day, but I will never, ever forget my daughter’s expression when the instructor (FINALLY) pulled her out of the water. That was the first time I had ever seen pure, undiluted fear on my child’s face, the first time she had even realized that that kind of fear was even a possibility– and it was awful. Since that day, we have spent hundreds of dollars on many, many, MANY rounds of swimming lessons- but while my daughter eventually progressed to dog paddling short distances across the pool, she remained terrified of putting her face underwater. Our swimming lessons nearly always ended with her crying in the backseat of the car, begging me to not make her go back.

“Why do I have to learn to swim, Mommy?” she’d ask me over and over again. “Why can’t I just stay away from swimming pools?”

I did my best to explain, but those were tough conversations. I hated seeing my daughter so upset. I also hated turning down the many invitations we received to swim parties and pool get-togethers. I had learned to swim when I was four and spent most of my summers at the lake and the pool. It had never occurred to me that my own children would be any different.

Dennis and I agreed that Something Had To Be Done, and that Something came in the form of a name and telephone number given to me by a mother from my daughter’s school. “Sylvie was terrified of the water,” she told me, “just terrified. But this woman had both my girls swimming in one week. She’s tough, but she’s nice and the girls both loved her. She has her own pool out in the country and you take them out there every day for a week. It’s a haul, but it’s worth it.”

A few weeks ago, we finally called the instructor, whose name was Ashley. Miracle of miracles, she was starting her final session of the year the very next day. She could see both my children at 6pm.

Punky wasn’t too worried when we arrived for her first lesson. Over the last few years, she had become a master of manipulation at swim lessons, using tears, shrieks of terror, and multiple bathroom visits to avoid anything that involved putting her face underwater. Ashley quickly introduced herself to the kids and told them they would do five things that day– and they would do the same five things every day after that. That didn’t sound too bad. Ashley began by letting them practice their kicking as she pulled them through the water. My children had no trouble  with this whatsoever– It was old hat for both of them.

Then, Ashley told them to put their heads underwater.

Bruiser gamely went under – Our only problem with him has been that he thinks he’s a better swimmer than he really is – but Punky was a different story. First she refused. The teacher insisted. Next, Punky tried to reason with her teacher. When that didn’t work, she attempted bargaining with her. That, too, failed, and so Punky resorted to an old standby, and asked to go to the bathroom. Her request was politely refused. Ashley held Punky  in her arms and told her that they could go underwater together. Realizing that it was TOTALLY GOING TO HAPPEN, Punky did something I’ve never seen her do before.

She freaked out.

The only way I can describe what happened is to compare it to a demon possession. My polite, sensitive, well-mannered daughter kicked and screamed and shouted things at the top of her lungs that I never thought would come out of her mouth– things like “Get your hands off of me RIGHT NOW!” and “You’re trying to DROWN ME!!” All activity around the pool stopped as everyone stared at my daughter thrashing in the water.

I was horrified. Shocked. Embarrassed. I fully expected the teacher to tell me that this child, MY CHILD, was completely beyond her (or anyone else’s!) teaching capabilities. Luckily, Ashley didn’t give up. “Punky,” she said firmly, “If you keep acting this way, your mother is going to have to go sit in her car.”

“MOMMMMMMMYYYYY!” my daughter cried. “HEEELLLLP ME! She’s going to drown me!!!”

Outwardly, I tried to remain calm, but inside, my stomach was roiling. Was I doing the right thing? Or would my daughter forever have a memory of the time her mother didn’t save her? I clutched the armrests on my chair and stayed put.

“You have to learn to swim, Punky,” I called to her lightly. “Miss Ashley will not let anything happen to you. She will not let you drown.” Punky yelled some more and her teacher talked to her quietly. After a short conference, the two of them held their breath and went under together. And then they did it again. And again. And again. And then, Punky meekly asked if she could take a bathroom break. And the teacher said yes.

Punky went to the bathroom and stayed there a while. When she came out, she walked over to me.

“I’m sorry I acted that way out in the pool, Mommy,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I said those things to the teachers. I don’t know what got into me.”

“It’s okay, Punky,” I said. “I appreciate your apology. I know you were scared. But I promise you that Miss Ashley isn’t going to let anything happen to you.” Punky nodded and returned to the pool.

“I’m sorry I said those awful things to you,” she said first to her teacher and then to her teacher’s assistant. The two women accepted her apology.

The rest of the lesson, Punky did exactly as she was told, except for one tense moment when her fingers had to be pried from the iron fence surrounding the pool before she’d agree to jump in. By the end of the lesson, not only was she jumping in, she even jumped off the diving board into the deep end. I could not believe my eyes. After years and years of setbacks and failures, my daughter was learning to swim.

MY DAUGHTER WAS LEARNING TO SWIM.

By the end of the lesson, the teacher was exultant. She could not believe the turnaround in Punky from the start of the lesson to its end. Punky was also thrilled. “I love swimming, Mommy!” she said happily as we got in the car. “I can’t wait for tomorrow! And we’re just going to do the same stuff we did today, so I have nothing to be afraid of! In fact, now that I’m not afraid of swimming, I can’t think of ANYTHING I’m afraid of!”

“You overcame your fear, Punky!” I said with tears in my eyes. “It was really amazing! I am so proud of you.” The children and I talked for a few minutes about how it felt to face your fears. “I have to admit, I was just stunned when you were screaming at your teachers,” I told her. “I’ve never seen you act that way before.”

“I know,” Punky said. “I was just so scared. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What changed things?” I asked her. “That’s what I don’t understand.”

“When I went in the bathroom, I prayed to God,” she said. “That’s why I took so long in there. And then I felt okay. I just knew God wasn’t going to let me drown.”

I was speechless. I have never seen a transformation like that before, and I may well never see one like that again.

When we got home, my husband was waiting to hear how the first swim lesson had gone. Punky eagerly told him the story. As she talked, her little brother kept trying to interject. “Daddy!” he’d say excitedly. “Daddy!”

“Be quiet, Bruiser, and let me finish!” Punky said firmly. But Bruiser couldn’t keep quiet.

“Daddy!” he said again after a moment. “Daddy! Daddy!” He looked like he was going to burst.

“What is it, Bruiser?” Dennis finally asked, realizing that the interruptions would continue until Bruiser was able to say what needed to be said.

“PUNKY OVERCOME HER FEARS!!!” Bruiser said with great excitement. We all laughed.

By the end of the week, well, see for yourself.

It may not have meant all that much to anyone else, but I have to say that the day Punky OVERCOME HER FEARS!! was one of the best and most thrilling days of my entire life.

Ladies and gentlemen?

WE HAVE OURSELVES A SWIMMER.

 (Actually, we have two.)

Summer = MADE.