I think we still lived in the James house in Van when Mama
decided to put me and my brother Allen in swimming lessons. Sharon was too young, and Brenda hadn’t
arrived yet. There was a large round
public pool at the park, which was adjacent to the city golf course. I can still see it and it looked awfully big
to my six-year-old eyes. We were divided
into groups of six or eight and assigned to different teachers. My teacher was a man named Mal Fowler, whom I
later knew as the high school’s head football coach, and whose son Todd grew up
to play for the Dallas Cowboys.
Coach Fowler taught us how to hold our breaths underwater,
and I suppose we learned to swim some, but really my swimming skills didn’t
develop until much later. I was a timid
little girl, and I was afraid of him. I
was especially afraid when we were required to jump off the diving board on the
last day of lessons, and swim to the side.
I’m still not sure how I didn’t drown!
I was really glad when that two weeks was over.
It’s amazing how memories seal themselves in our brains with
the senses of sight, smell, and hearing.
Our lessons took place in the mornings with the scent of water and
chlorine, the sounds of chattering children, adult voices, and splashing water,
and the sight of mothers with young children waiting on one end of the pool
while their children bobbed in the water in various groups with their
teachers.
I’ve never been quite sure that swimming lessons actually
teach children to swim, but one thing the lessons do accomplish is building
confidence in the student so they can go on to perfect the skill
themselves. At least that is what I did,
and my own children did, years later. I
never did thank Coach Fowler for teaching me that life skill, and now it is too
late.
What about you? How did you learn to swim? Or did you?
XOXO
Labels: pool, swimming lessons
