Swim lessons

 My mom and my boys.

Watching the park from my grandma's porch

as the evening starts to chill.

Around 1980.

One of the best things about Grandma’s house, it was right across the street from a park. Courson Park in Palmdale had a great playground, a sprinkling of trees, and a public pool. I have so many photos taken in the park, but so few that show that glorious pool under the desert sun. 

My older brother learned to swim there. When I was finally old enough to take my turn, I don’t know if I was more excited or afraid. Two whole weeks at grandma’s house by myself was a real treat. But I struggled with a certain amount of clumsiness and felt perfectionist terror over the expectations of formal lessons. 

The first lesson, grandma walked me across the street and got me checked in. She had already signed me up for the Tadpole beginner class. I had my dime clutched in my hand, the daily cost of the lessons. 

That first day we were led through the procedures of putting out clothes in a numbered wire basket. It was checked in with an attendant for a corresponding numbered safety pin that pinned around the strap of my suit. My head was painfully squeezed into the required rubber cap and I rinsed under the shower. At the end of the lesson, we rinsed off again, retrieved our things, and dried off. Many people changed clothes, but I just slipped on my flipflops and wrapped the towel around me. After all, I was only going ACROSS THE STREET!!!

My grandma had a square glass berry bowl that came with her refrigerator. It was kept in the drawer in her kitchen with the dishtowels and she had been saving her dimes there, all for me. There was a dime for each morning’s lesson. Then, in the afternoon I could get another dime to go to a two hour open swim session. I practically lived in my suit. When I was a kid, I never burned. By the end of the two weeks my hair was bleached and streaky against my dark tanned skin. 

I can still smell the chlorine and hot desert breezes of these two week summer swim breaks. I also made friends with a few kids in the neighborhood that stretched beyond these weeks. 

My grandma belonged to several social and service clubs. I would attend meetings with her, including her weekly Cancer Dressing Society work meeting. There were potlucks and card parties, with bingo played for small gifts that were the cost to play. They were opened and stolen like the best kinds of white elephant exchanges. My grandma also gave me sewing lessons and I helped with chores. Somehow there still seemed to be plenty of time to play or just lay in my favorite patch of soft lawn and read. 

There was also a pool in Topanga, but it was privately owned by a summer camp. They opened it on summer weekends if it wasn’t booked in advance for a private party. I think it was 25 cents to swim all afternoon. I always called first to make sure they were open before making that mile walk down the hill to Camp Wildwood. I always tried to talk someone into bringing me back. There is a deep body memory of dragging noodle legs back up the hill and laying them on my bed, still feeling the movement of the water. 

Years later, my two boys both had swimming lessons at Courson Pool. I was renting a small house also just across the street in another direction. At that time, the city had made lessons and admission to the open swim seasons free. 

I was never a great swimmer, but I was able to pass the test of swimming the breast stroke across the pool and back. This freed me to enjoy the freedom of the deep end. Even though the physics of diving eluded me, I reveled in the thrill of jumping straight in off the high dive. That process of daring the possibility of a belly flop against the joy of flying has remained a guiding life lesson.

Now, between economic changes and the growing costs of insurance coverage, summer swim lessons are out of reach for many families. On the positive side, the filter systems have gotten better, so those tight rubbery swim caps are happily a rearview mirror image. I’m so thankful none of my kids knew that pain. 

My skin burns now on the rare days I can go back to a beach or pool. Even with the advances in sunscreen, I always miss a place or don’t re-apply often enough. Still, now as we move towards the end of August, I think about that first cold plunge, wrinkly fingers, and the way well used muscles feel at the end of a long, fun day. But most of all I remember to take the leap. Maybe it will end in pain and embarrassment. But then again, you might just fly.