High-dive Summer

 The shadows were growing long, and what the late afternoon summer sun could still touch was bathed gold under a hazy blue sky.  The shouting and splashing of a few dozen other kids faded into background noise as a determined seven year old girl in a pale pink swim-suit, quite small for her age and spindly, climbed the nine rungs of the wet metal ladder that led to the high-dive.  She hesitated only a second once her feet were securely on the rough surface of the board.  Then, with her fingers clamped over her nose and a resolute expression on her face, she took halting, faltering but ever forward steps that carried her the length of it. There were nine terrifying and exhilarating feet - almost three times as high as she was tall - of open air between her and the water.  She leapt.

And if that isn’t impressive enough, let me tell you the story of how she got to that moment.

We all have things we remember being afraid of.  We probably all have things we’re still afraid of.  If we don’t harbor old childhood fears, then we all have something that we’re afraid of now.  I can say this with confidence, because to be completely without fear is to be without anything one loves enough to cling to it, including life itself, and I know no such person.  

(You might argue that those willing to take their own lives fear nothing including death, but I would argue that they fear death less than they fear having to go on in the life they’re in.  You might suggest that warriors and soldiers fear nothing, but I think most of them fear the loss of whatever they are fighting so passionately to protect, and for the future that would be compromised for themselves and their families if they fail.  And though heroic, this is still fear, and a conversion for another time.  Right now it will suffice to declare that everyone I have ever known fears something.)  

Sometimes those fears are healthy ones, and sometimes they aren’t.  Some fears protect us, and some keep us from enjoying life to its fullest.  It is those fears - the ones that hold us back - that I want us to keep in mind today while I tell you the story of the seven-year-old who just launched herself from the high-dive.  

My youngest used to be ‘abnormally respectful’ of bodies of water.  

I worded that the way I did for a reason.  She didn’t fear WATER, in fact, she loved it.  

She was the only child of mine who had no reservations about getting splashed - even in the eyes - in the bath-tub.  She would spend hours running through the sprinkler and jumping in puddles, she preferred the trampoline when it was raining, she drank from the hose and used it as a weapon, and she used to spray herself right in the face with the misting bottle that I used on the plants.  This kid and droplets were best friends.  

She enjoyed a decent relationship with larger bodies of water as well…

just so long as I was within arms reach.  

We would go to the lake and she would be genuinely excited to get in - with me. 

She drew the line at putting her face under the surface, and learning to swim was out of the question.

We tried each year on vacation, and on occasional trips to the rec center pool.  She was thrilled to get in, but needed to feel her feet on the bottom and her grip on the edge, or on me.

My youngest was afraid of - truly and deeply feared - swimming. 

My older three girls could all swim, and while we were still very careful around water there was a relief in that.  I could be certain that if they were pushed into the water they could safely get back to the edge/exit and get out, or at least maintain themselves on the surface until help could arrive.  I was eager for my littlest to achieve this as well.  She was not.  So she was putting it off as long as she could. 

For Christmas of 2017 we were gifted a family pool membership for the upcoming summer by my in-laws.  June through September gets pretty hot here in Ohio, and the humidity makes it just brutal every time you step out the door.  This would be a great way for us to enjoy the outside as a family, without dying of heat stroke.  Sure enough, Memorial Day saw 91 on the thermometer and our family packing off to the pool for the first time.  

The pool where we had our membership was ‘L’ shaped (for lack of a better description).  The long section of the L began at about 3’ deep (after a good rain) and sloped down to about 6’ deep.  The very shallowest end was roped off for the little kids.  The 6’ end had a square area segregated for the slide; an enclosed “twisty slide” about 10 feet tall that dumped into another roped off area with its own ladder.  The shorter section of the ‘L’ was 12+ feet deep and was the landing zone for a pair of diving boards; one standard height and one 3-meter “high-dive”.  

On that first day of our new membership we loaded up the van with towels and sunscreen and snacks and goggles.  The drive took only about eight minutes, and we got ourselves checked in and found lounge chairs.  As I was rubbing sunscreen all over every child sized body that I could catch I noticed my little water-respector, then six-years-old, surveying the whole place.  She watched the kids in the knee-deep “Kiddie pool” for a moment, and then noted the concession stand, and scanned over the crowded swimming area until her gaze landed on the diving boards.  She watched intently while I armored her against sun-burn.  I figured the diving boards must look terrifying to her.  

We hopped into the shallow end for smaller kids, and - as usual - she stuck to my hip like glue.  Her sisters dispersed with goggles and diving rings and the two of us just hung out and enjoyed the refreshing water.   

I was keenly aware that my littlest was distracted.  By the diving boards.  It took quite a while, though, before she broached the subject.  Oddly enough, when she did, it wasn’t “Wow that’s scary,” or “I can’t believe it’s so high.” 

To my astonishment, what came out of her mouth was, “I want to do that.”  She pointed at the high-dive.

👀

A whole lot of thoughts went stumbling over one another through my head.

“Haha, yeah, right.” (Thankfully I didn’t say that one.)

“Are you serious, child?” (The brain-to-mouth filter caught that one too.)

“Not even *I* would do that.” (Kept that one to myself as well.)

“I could use this.”  (Bit my tongue.)

What finally made it out was, “It does look like fun.  You would have to be able to swim, you know.”

“Yeah,” she replied casually.  “Will you teach me how?”

Now all of the things that were tripping over each other in my head a moment ago were having a celebratory dance party and congratulating one another on their moment of proper discernment.  

“Sure!”

And so it began.  I knew that it might not last.  I had potty-trained four children and taught them all to read; I was aware that things like this did not often follow a linear progress and sometimes failed several times before success of any time.  And, even if the enthusiasm remained and she did make steady progress, we might run out of summer pool season before she actually got there.  But it was way too good of an opportunity to pass up on.  So we got right to it.  

First I had her try a doggie-paddle while I supported her - less and less - all around the shallow end.  Once she realized just how well she was able to keep herself afloat she would tolerate a little distance between us, and swim to me from the edge of the pool and back again.  

After reveling in this new freedom for about 20 minutes she looked up at me and declared, “I’m ready to go off of the big diving board now.”

I think I did laugh out loud this time.  “Not yet, kiddo.”  She wanted to know what else she had to do before she could, so we set a plan of action.

First she had to be able to swim the entire width of the pool without touching the bottom.

Second she had to be able to swim the length of the pool without touching the bottom.  

Third she needed to go down the slide and swim herself to the edge with her head above the water, 10 times.  

Then she had to do it swimming underwater once or twice to make sure she could find a ladder that way if necessary.  

Lastly, she had to get strong enough to go off of the little (regular) diving board and get herself up to the surface and then to the ladder, three times in a row.

If she could manage the shock of entering the water, and master the ability to get herself to the surface and to the ladder, and build the stamina to do it a few times back to back, then I figured she’d be safe enough to try the high-dive.

We weren’t at the pool every day, mind you.  Usually we made it over there a couple of times a week.  And each time we did I made her warm up with the previously mastered exercises before tackling whatever the next challenge was.  I was ever aware that this process might take us all summer - or longer.  Labor Day and the final pool weekend would arrive before we knew it, and I was a bit worried that she’d lose steam and get discouraged.  She did not.  She remained dedicated to the course.  

Through all of June and July she worked steadily away.  She didn’t exactly lose the fear, but she learned to roll with it.  She overcame it, and didn’t let it slow her down.  She turned seven, August passed, and she was making amazing progress, one nervous but exciting day after another.  I didn’t make her, I just helped her, and she kept her eyes on the prize and refused to give up.  It was pretty impressive to watch.  And, at long last, on Monday, September 3, only a few days before the pool would close for the season, she finished her third launch and return from the regular diving board.  

The time had come.  My husband was her spotter.  I dug out my camera.  Her sisters and friends gathered to watch and cheer.  The shadows were growing long, and what the late afternoon summer sun could still touch was bathed gold under a hazy blue sky, and you know the next part.  

She did it.  Not without fear, but without failure.  It was inspiring.

And here is the lesson I took away from that summer (and am sharing with you now):

If my limby little seven-year-old could overcome a fear of swimming in order to fly off a high-dive as a child, then I had better not be letting little fears get in the way of doing big things as an adult.

Happy Thursday everyone, we’re almost to the weekend and to SUMMER!!!