Sink or Swim

We were a mere two minutes into our second week of swim lesson at LHP when I discovered exactly how it was going to go down: our new instructor Cliff (maybe 16?), flopped Harry on a kick board, and, assuming he could handle it, turned his back to attend to his other charge. Harry did what any non-swimmer would do. He shot straight for the bottom. Cliff grabbed him in a flash, but not before I sprung out of my chair gasping as if I'd been the one headed to Davy Jones' locker.

Every day brought a new sink or swim adventure, like the underwater dunk that was a good three seconds long (for those of you without children, that's an ETERNITY for a 3-year-old who hates getting water in his eye) and then the head-first dives into the pool. What, I wondered, were we doing but totally spooking this poor kid.

But Harry, bless him, hung in there (probably better than I did), never a tear, and offering Cliff a heavy dose of adoration when he saw him go off the diving board.

We're done with lessons for the summer. Harry got a good (challenging!) based. I think next year, after some more instruction, we'll have a swimmer on our hands. No rush Harry, but your little sister has nearly mastered the dreaded kickboard. Maybe we should call Cliff.