Two years ago, we halted all diving at the pool after R. changed her mind mid-dive, and ended up splitting open her chin just below her lip, and required 24 stitches inside and several outside. Jeff had been taping her trying to dive, and so he caught the whole thing on film (which was helpful in the ER because when you bring in a child who is bleeding, they ask a LOT of questions, and it's helpful to have evidence that your child legitimately tried to defy gravity mid-jump). Thankfully, the doctors were all wonderful and I'm grateful that the doctor on call was extremely capable, because we couldn't afford a plastic surgeon, and he was the best option at the time (it was the doctor already there, who was honest with us and told us she would likely have a scar if we did it, the plastic surgeon that our insurance didn't cover, or this middle guy on call, who would be covered and usually did a really good job. I'm happy to report that you can barely see the scar).
This year, though, R. has made it her mission in life to learn to dive, and it's remarkable how quickly
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| R. diving into the pool |
As a child, my mom and dad were smart enough to get me swimming lessons (first using my Granny's pool, and when we moved into the house my mom still occupies, using our own). My cousins Mike and Andy took lessons with us, as did our friends Rebekkah and Aaron (yep, from Rebekkah's 40th Birthday Zoom Party last month- same people. I keep in touch). We learned the basic strokes, how to float in case we had to, and of course, treading water.
In between sessions (our swim teacher, Mary Ann, would split the older kids and younger), Andrew (now an attorney-by-day, illustrator by night), Michael (a professor at UCLA with a book about 19th Century Poetry out), my sister (also a published author and editor at an online magazine) and I would work on newspapers that we created on the screened in porch (side note- my dad BUILT the screened in porch. He was an attorney, but also loved building things, and that porch is awesome). We were giggly kids hooked on potty humor, so I remember distinctly that a lot of the articles had headlines like "Poop and Pee Get Married- Then Flushed." Quality journalism- I'm happy to see that our subject matter has improved a bit since then.
But the best part of swim lessons were the extras we started to learn as we got older, like the more complicated breast stroke, and of course, diving. I wasn't particularly good at it at first. I'm a good athlete normally- but throwing my body into the water, arms and head first, was not a natural position or motion for me, and I probably belly flopped a solid 80% of the time that first summer. But every now and then, my brain would ignore the eminent peril of diving, and I would pull off a decent descent. I practiced and practiced, and what actually clicked for me was when we started doing races in the pool where we could dive in to start. I found that if I dove OUT (instead of trying to go straight down), my body behaved itself, and I could cut into the water in a proper diving position. I never liked to lose, and this gave me a serious edge over my competition (even if all of us were prepubescent at that point).
I love diving now, though I have to be careful because bikini tops plus diving do not work together particularly well (I learned this the hard way one summer when I was trying to impress friends in the pool, and had to stay under longer than anticipated to make sure I had fabric covering my boobs). Watching R. discover the joy of streaming through the air and water is like watching a little version of myself, and I hope she can continue to improve until her feet are straight.
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