"Water kills you if you fight it, saves you when you go with it"

Our teacher friends had an after school party back in June when school let out. The teachers I work with have a chance to spend time with our families and celebrate the coming summer. Smiles are abound with joy in our hearts as the idea of getting up for ourselves the next ten weeks leads to delectation of the highest order with refreshments to boot.

Most of us have families and when Preston and I arrived many of the kids were scurrying about the deck of an above-ground pool. Parents hovered on the perimeter anticipating something. Swim vests and floating noodles were abound as the kids bobbed like corks in the blue, cool water with the light of the coming sunset  creeping through the trees. Up the ladder and a slide to the left, the boys and girls would launch themselves from the deck into the water below, nary a concern for those who lay below them teetering on the narrow edge of their various swimming skills. Kids love the water, but it is a relationship that builds over time.

Preston saw the kids having fun but was hesitant to imbibe. He had fearlessly taken swimming lessons for months as a baby but at some point in his double digit months, he had decided the water was something that demanded a clinging action about Mommy and/or Daddy's throat. His ice cream scoops, blowing and kicks had eluded him and he had become a reluctant partner in any recreational aquatic activities. Hopeful he would want to take part in the shenanigans, I asked him if he wanted to swim. He emphatically replied, "No!"

The games continued and Preston began to pace the deck, sans swimming trunks and asking for things that were floating about from the other children. Kids would bring him beach balls and plastic boats and he would cautiously reach from the side of the pool to grasp them in his now 3 year old man-hands. He would then push them away with no recourse except to plead with his peers to "get my boat"and "that's my ball."

Reliance on the generosity of young children becomes prohibitive and after a few minutes,  he asked to put on his swimsuit. We retreated to the bathroom inside the house. I wrestled him out of his shorts, shirt and skivvies whilst trying to beat him to the punch. (If he dresses first, he will swing open the door and be gone. I only needed to be half naked once to realize until he was independently change worthy, I would have to beat him getting suited up to avoid sharing "the raw" amongst our friends.) With the wrangling complete we returned to the pool.

Preston spent the next hour in various stages of comfort in the water. When he decide to take the dive, he was firmly attached to my neck and shoulders, much as he had been on our last outing a few months before in the dead of winter. He had his swim vest on, the plastic shark grinning and grinding directly into my chest. We began to wade our way around the pool.

Hanging with kids is cool and I have become quite comfortable with all ages of the young at heart. You always ask their names…ask them how they are doing…is the water cold?…Wow, you held your breath a long time on that one…Good Job! The pool inquiry sets the tone for the comfort level of your kids, the other kids and the parents fluttering just outside of the activity zone. They are never quite paying full attention, but never fully at ease. Redirections are always in play and by climbing in the pool, you find yourself a lifeguard by default.

We got Preston used to the water and he began to collect his favorite things as all kids do - a boat, a fish that floats, a beach ball. The toys began to ease his anxiety and he focused on them instead of the fear he had embraced on his journey from infancy to toddler. He started to turn from me and asked for help in swimming to the next item that peaked his interest. Over the course of what seemed to be minutes, I went from an invaluable partner on which to hang onto to a monkey gripping with a finger and thumb the backside strap of his swim vest - my only connection to him.

Preston then turned around and said as plain as day, "Daddy, let me go." The words came crashing into me like a speeding car. The metaphor was so overwhelming I began to tear up. In the span of a half hour he had gone from a tiny, scared baby to a brave Jacque Cousteau ready to swim the cavernous deep with his little arms and legs kicking and driving him towards oblivion. The duality of emotional stability when dealing with my son had reared its head once again.

So I let him go. He spent the next hour swimming on his own, me swimming at his side, encouraging, playing catch, squirting squirt guns and having a beach ball. I saw in those minutes the many things that might come down the road - off to kindergarten, first kiss, prom, driving, college, etc. Kids need us for everything in the beginning, then quickly move into their own lane with language, walking and the personality that makes every single child unique to the world. I could see the tears to come with a sense of sadness mixed with excitement and pride. I was going to have to let go a lot more.
Domingo Martinez wrote in his self narrative that "water kills you if you fight it, saves you when you go with it." Life is like that. You learn to get used to it. Ride with it. You don't control it. You just live it.

Yesterday, Preston and I went to friends place down in the Northern Neck of the Potomac. They have a pool. He and a couple other kids swam on a bright, summer August afternoon with school lurking just around the corner. Preston started on the stairs, and over the course of the afternoon, he worked his way to the middle, floating on his back and swimming on his belly without a care in the world. They played with squirt guns, beach balls and diving rings. It's been about eight weeks since the party. Yesterday, I never even got in the pool.