Family Life

Fall swimming classes have started. We’d signed up Daniel and Joel, and last week was their first class. Joel (2) is in a beginner group that requires a parent in the pool for the first five classes. Daniel (3) was in that group last year, and Debbie went in the pool with him. This year it’s my turn, with Joel. Daniel has moved up a class and has his lessons with instructor but no parent.

If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll remember we did ice skating throughout the summer. Now that it’s getting colder we’ll do swimming. Most people do the pool thing in the summer and the ice thing in the winter. Not us.

Last week Debbie came along for assistance. She helped get the boys ready and helped get them dried and dressed afterward. Today I assured her I would be OK on my own. She could enjoy a quiet hour at home. So off I went with two small boys who were excited to be with “just Daddy.”

I’d left myself plenty of time, because I didn’t want to be late and rushed getting the boys undressed and showered and ready for the pool. That was my first problem. We were early. Only by about six minutes, but that was about five and a half minutes too much. There we were, wet, slightly cold, all ready to jump in, sitting by the pool waiting for the previous classes to end. Six minutes can be an eternity while trying to prevent two hyperactive boys from launching themselves into the pool, screaming with excitement. Yes, the screaming makes it an eternity of embarrassment.

I noticed all the other parents turned up fifteen seconds before class.

Finally the other kids climbed out of the pool and it was our turn. I left Daniel at his class with a gentle reminder to behave himself, and went with Joel to our corner of the pool. Joel wanted to walk down the steps into the pool himself. Sure, no problem. Wide, shallow steps. Easy. By the second step the water was up to his thighs and he was convinced he was about to drown. Arms out, panicked pleading to “pick me up!”

But Joel was no problem once the class got underway. Mostly. He has a strong aversion to getting his eyes or ears wet. In this respect he takes after his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and probably more generations back. It’s difficult learning to swim while keeping your head a mile above the water. It’s like trying to do the dolphin trick where they stand out of the water on their tails.

That difficulty was minor compared to the problem we had where Joel would not listen to the instructor and would just barely listen to Dad. I looked around and noticed that all the other kids were paying attention and obediently following instructions. They were learning to swim. Joel was doing his best to have fun in his own way, while frustrating Dad and instructor both.

Sounds of loud crying eventually made it past my focus on Joel, and I looked around to see Daniel bawling his eyes out, two instructors hovering over him with concern. I waded over to see what was the matter, imagining some injury. Between loud sobs, Daniel cried “I need to pee!” Well. I left Joel with one of the staff and took Daniel to the bathroom. We came back out to the pool just as class finished. I collected Joel, said goodbye to the all and sundry, and went back to the change room.

Shower the boys, collect our stuff from the locker, find an empty cubicle, dry and dress the boys one at a time, dry and dress myself. Wring out the wet stuff, repack the bag, and walk out the door. Pretty basic. My two boys, whom I dearly love, made this a little more interesting.

While outside the changing cubicle, both boys were dancing around all over the place, singing and shouting at the tops of their voices, happy as can be. In a crowded change room. I looked around and noticed all the other kids were quiet and well-behaved, following instructions, helping their parent dry and dress them. Why couldn’t my kids be like that? Why me? Why? I figured yelling at them to stand still and be quiet might be frowned upon by the pool-going public, and besides, the boys probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

Once inside the changing cubicle the boys would be contained and easier to manage. Or so I thought. As soon as I shut the door they decided to try out the acoustics of the cubicle, by emitting piercing tonal shrieks and pausing to listen to the reverb. That dolphin analogy started to make more sense. And then once a boy was dry and dressed, it took continuous fast talking to convince him to stay inside and not open the door wide on his not-dressed family members.

Finally both boys were dressed. Now it was my turn. At this point the boys both started to loudly comment on portions of my anatomy best left covered and unmentioned. I must point out that we were not in the men’s change room. We were in the mixed-gender family change room. I tried to change the subject in quiet, urgent tones, and managed to deflect the topic to other, safer areas. Again, I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of how quiet and orderly and well-behaved all the other kids were. Where had I gone wrong as a parent? What had I done to deserve this? The phrase “like father like son” kept popping into my mind. Somewhere my mum is quietly laughing into her coffee mug.

And that was it. We were dressed, packed, and walking out to the car. The boys enjoyed themselves (apart from needing to pee) and I managed to be good-natured and patient with them all evening. Against all odds. Never a dull moment.

But seriously, why are my kids not like everybody else’s kids? What am I doing wrong here? Are they beyond repair?

This entry was posted on Monday, October 1st, 2007 at 11:25 pm. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site. Your comments will be moderated if this is your first time, otherwise they will appear immediately. I reserve the right to delete inappropriate comments.