>The Swimmer

>Thursday was Punky’s final day of swimming lessons and it wasn’t looking good.

On Tuesday, she’d had a minor meltdown after the teacher tried to coax her to jump into the water. She backed away and shook her head and hid her face in her hands, all while the teacher calmly held up class and tried to convince her to jump on in.

“Why are you filming this?” I hissed at Hubs, who was sitting beside me with the mini camera rolling. “This isn’t a memory anyone is going to want to relive!”

He shrugged. “We can always erase it later,” he said.

I sat silently, glowering at Punky’s back. Frankly, I was embarrassed. She was already swimming with the three-year-olds, while the kids her own age had been placed in the class’s advanced group. The little ones were jumping into the water with wild abandon. The five-year-olds were practicing their breaststroke a few feet away. Meanwhile, my own pride and joy was holding onto the poolside ladder, pretending to cry because she was afraid to jump in the water.

And so on the last day of class, I brought Punky to the pool thirty minutes before her lesson began. Together, we got into the water. She clung to my neck for a few minutes, then finally agreed to let go so that I could hold her under her belly and let her “swim.” After a bit, I let go. She stayed afloat.

“Hey Punky,” I said.

“Yes, Mommy?” she asked as she paddled, her face barely above the water’s surface.

“You’re swimming.”

She paused for a moment, then furiously paddled again as she began to sink, bobbing again to the surface.

“I’m! Swimming!” she gasped with delight. For the next ten minutes she paddled merrily around the pool, chatting gaily with me as I walked beside her.

“I can swim now, Mommy!” she laughed. “I’m swimming!”

“And now it’s time to jump into the pool,” I said gently. We did some practice jumps, with her holding tightly to my hands as she jumped into the water. After a few of those, I had her stand up straight and hold only my index fingers as she jumped in.

Finally, I told her it was time. She clutched her belly. She whimpered. She tried to jump a few times, and stopped herself.

“I’m not going to let you swim again until you jump,” I said.

That was enough. She took a deep breath and…..

SHE JUMPED.

I caught her in my arms and she squealed with glee. “I did it!” she shrieked. “I did it! I did it! I DID IT!!!!”

Around us, the lifeguards and senior citizens couldn’t help but laugh. They had watched as she tried to jump earlier, some offering words of encouragement.

By that time, a few of the children from her class had shown up with their parents.

“I want to do it again!” Punky crowed. She climbed out of the water. “Hold on, Mommy, I’ll be right back!” She walked over to where the other kids were sitting on a bench beside the pool.

“Hey kids! Watch this!” she shouted triumphantly. She came back over and jumped back into the pool.

“I can jump now!” she said from the water, paddling away happily. “And! I can swim!”

The children stared uncomprehendingly at her in the way three-and-five year olds do.

I was so proud of my little Punky. And I was so glad I’d taken the extra thirty minutes to work with her on our own.

It made me wonder how many children could benefit from their parents simply spending 30 minutes a week helping them with something they’ve been struggling with. It sounds pretty obvious, but I know from experience that many parents really aren’t willing to commit to this kind of thing on a regular basis.

And so I write this, hoping to remember always the feeling I got helping Punky learn to swim. Her lessons ended on a happy note, her teacher was suitably amazed by her progress, and we got our money’s worth in the end.

This afternoon, several hours after class had ended, she looked up from where she was playing, moved her arms in the ‘ice cream scoop’ position her teacher had taught her, and said, “I really want to swim some more, Mommy.”

“Well, Daddy said he’d take you tomorrow evening,” I told her.

“But I really want to swim now. I love it so much!” she said. “I just want to swim!”

I smiled with pride. That’s my girl.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.