I’ve
always loved the beach. As far back as I
can remember, summer and beach are so intertwined that to call one to mind
immediately summons the other. When I
was seven, my parents rented a house in Cutchogue,
New York. The beach we had access to that year, Fleet’s
Neck, was right on the creek, an inlet, that while not terribly wide, was
continuously dredged to ensure it remained deep enough so that boats could pass
without fear of getting grounded. Three
steps out into the water and I was well over my head. A constant worry for my
mother, whose incessant angst I found completely vexing, at least until I had a
child of my own and finally understood that mothers and children are perpetually
fated to see things differently. What is
fun to the child, can branch off, in an overly active mother’s imagination, to
no less than twelve calamities. And in
my mother’s mind, they played like a video on repeat.
For
a seven year old, I was a good swimmer.
I could tread water for what seemed like ages, and with an energy level
that could have powered a small village, I could have spent the day swimming
without feeling even slightly tired. So
when my dad dove into the water and decided to swim across the creek, I could
not be restrained. I had to follow. On some level my dad had to know this. A challenge was set down in front of me, and
not just any challenge, one that looked fun.
When I expressed my desire to swim across, my dad issued just one
rule. I had to stay close to him at all
times and I knew, without him having to emphasize it, that if I disobeyed, my
creek swimming days would be over – at least until next year. Every day, my dad and I swan across, and most
days we made the trip more than once. I
was only a child, but to me the feat was huge, and it made me feel all grow
up.
My
son is now four and I have had to work hard to help him conquer his fear of the
water. Every summer since his birth, I
would carry him into the bay and hold him, praying that enough exposure would
eventually whittle away his resistance. After two years of swimming lessons, he started
this summer finally feeling comfortable getting his face wet. And he would happily have run into the water
all on his own the moment we arrived at the beach except for his sudden
aversion to seaweed. I’ve no idea what
set him off, but he acts towards seaweed the way most people act in regards to
red jellyfish. He sees it and
immediately freaks out. He will not,
under any circumstance, even permit one toe to so much as break the surface of
the water if a single clump of seaweed might brush up against his skin. So, we arrive at the beach, he helps his
grandfather set up the umbrellas and then he sprints down to the edge of the
water where he screams, “Mama, seaweed.” Which translated means, “Mama, do you
see all that seaweed clumped together.
Please pick me up and carry me over it.”
Shaking my head and knowing it is useless to try and rationalize with
him, I grant his request. Sometimes I
carry him out just a foot or two, where there is less seaweed and gently place
him down into the water. Other times, I
pick him up and toss him into the bay, watching him dip down under the surface
and then shoot up again. As long as he
doesn’t resurface within ten feet of anything green he’s fine.
This
passed Friday, instead of going to the beach in Mattituck where the water is
shallow and safe, we went to the beach out in Peconic, a beach that sits on a
creek – a beach where it takes but two and a half steps and my son is
completely submerged. Surprisingly, the
seaweed did not spook my son. I hadn’t
expected him to so brazenly march into the water, so I wasn’t in the least
worried that he might drown, at least not until I looked up from applying
sunscreen to realize he was already in his tube and five feet out into the
water. Yanking off my hat and sun
glasses, I splashed in after him. The
moment he saw me, he ducked out of the tube, pushed it to me and started
swimming in the opposite direction. I
was blown away by this sudden burst of bravado but had I not been completely at
home in the water, complete confident in my own abilities, I might have had a
moment of panic. Instead, I stayed next
to my son - thrilled by his willingness to swim - until he asked for the tube
which I willingly surrendered.
In
time, he exchanged his tube for his kick-board, and pointing across the creek to
the beach on the other side, he said, “I want to go over there.” Seeing no reason to object, I quickly
acquiesced and set out in an easy side stroke, keeping my eyes poised on him
the whole time as I shadowed him to the other side. He made it - an impressive feat for a child
who twelve months earlier viewed the water with an enhanced level of distrust.
Now,
the question presented itself – would he have the desire and endurance to make
it back? To say I had no doubts would be
to tell a little lie. And I wonder, when
he said he was ready to go back, did he catch a glimpse of doubt as it
flickered across my face. Perhaps, he
did. And perhaps, that is why after only
one kick he quickly discarded the kick-board, intent on making me feel guilty
for ever doubting him. Without any
device to cling to for support, and a huge smile on his face, a smile that
said, “Look what I can do,” he set out on his journey. His stroke was a convoluted half doggie
paddle, half breast stroke but - hey, there are no bonus points for style - he
managed to propel himself forward through the water. When he got tired, feeling slightly, winded,
he rolled onto his back, just like his swimming instructor taught him. With arms outstretched, parallel to the
heavens, and his eyes shut tight against the sun, he floated for a few moments
while he caught his breath. He then
rolled back over and continued his swim and he swam right up to the shore line,
grinning ear to ear as pride spilled forth from his eyes. He did it.
He swam the entire width of the creek all by himself and I admit, I was
more than a little surprised, extremely impressed and very proud. I had expected that one day we would swim
across the creek together, just like my dad and I used to do, but I never
thought it would have happened so soon. He beat me by three years.
Photo taken by Gary Jaeger
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