Skip to main content

I Have Wasted My Last Nickel on Swim Lessons

My children will never be lifeguards. Like their parents and grandparents before them, my children are destined not to be swimmers.

How bad is their swimming genealogy? My mother graduated from college only because her counselor found a way to waive what was at that time a mandatory swimming credit. Likewise, my father-in-law barely made it through college without drowning in the university pool. Interesting side note: He went to Ohio State, which didn't allow clothing in the pool--so yes, he had to pass his all-male swimming class in the nude. (I am NOT making this up; these requirements still exist.)

I have tried to help my children become real swimmers. As a kid I spent a LOT of time at the lake and developed some basic swimming skills but don't have any fancy strokes to share. Unfortunately, their father sinks like a stone, so I should have known our kids were not destined to take on Michael Phelps.

Over the past few years I have tried a number of swimming lessons at a number of pools. The first time I took Ryan to swimming lessons, he was one-year-old (you do ambitious things like that for your first kid). He was within the age range for the class BUT the teenage instructors didn't seem to realize they were dealing with a baby. The very first lesson they said now we're going to the deep end. I asked why. The kid responded well, they need to get used to the deep end for when they go off the diving board. MY SON IS 12 MONTHS OLD. I went back to the office, got my money back and never went there again.

The second time was at a different pool. The instructor seemed more mature, the class small, but she had some book she followed for the lessons, which had her teaching my kid who could barely put his face in the water a complicated backstroke. Waste. Of. Time.

I could go on about the shivering four-year-olds crying at the edge of the pool, the class of 13,000 kids taught by two guys younger than my socks.... It's been a nightmare. So I am declaring now--and let the PC mommy armies advance--that we are not doing anymore swim lessons.

I want my children to be safe around water and I want them to develop basic dog paddling but the 1500 meters Butterfly is not in our future.


  1. I learned to swim at age 20 in college! (They made us wear suits at the Christian college. Ahem.) Took Joshua to his first round of swimming lessons ever this week. He'll be long as he NEVER has to put his FACE in the water. Oy!


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happily Ever After

Last weekend, in a brief moment of remote control ownership, I tuned into basic cable and saw a very disturbing show called "Rich Bride, Poor Bride." I watched two episodes and didn't see what I would call a "poor" bride--although actually, after they blew their budgets, both brides probably did end up poor. One couple spent about $75,000. They talked her out of having live peacocks at the reception. That makes me think about my own much simpler but very nice-for- Farmersville wedding over a decade ago. In many ways it was a disaster. We were engaged for a year and a half; we had plenty of time to plan but fates conspired against us. By the time we got to the week of the wedding, we had buried two people on the guest list and paid our respects to a distant uncle. One of the people we lost was my husband's grandfather who died Monday, we had visitation Wednesday, funeral Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday, wedding Saturday. How his grandmother handled

I Know What you Did Last Summer

Good gravy (I have taken up saying this since Husband doesn't curse and I was the only one to blame for our household's junior potty mouths), it's Fall. And I still haven't shown you the before/during/after pictures of my kitchen update. Before : greenish "marble" laminate counters with a yellowed fluorescent light cover--only one bulb working. Carbon dating and a close examination of the many knife cuts evident on the laminate surface have led scientists to believe these counter tops date to the early Aquarius period or possibly late Happy Days epoch. To save money on the almost airline-like add-ons involved in having a big box home improvement chain do this project, we removed the counter tops ourselves. I use the term ourselves very loosely, of course, in that Husband did it. I thought we were well-prepared. Fortunately, they did not have a box on their billing slip for We Pulled out the Oven and OMGOMGOMG!! The workers even kindly looked away while I

Rejected by Nancy Cartwright

Every two years the nationally renowned Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop is held here in Dayton. The event typically sells out in hours, but one way to gain entry is to enter the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition --there is even a category for local writers. Several of my local friends who are great bloggers and hilarious Facebook commenters have been talking smack about winning this thing since we were all shut out two years ago by booger stories. Nancy Cartwright , Dayton native and the the voice of Bart Simpson, judged the finalists this year. Apparently, she did not like my entry. Recently, famous blogger and author Jenny Lawson shared an article she had written that was rejected by Oprah's magazine. So, inspired by her, I will share my article that I'm sure made it all the way to Nancy [it did not] and then was rejected for not being about boogers or port-a-johns. Check out "All the Dreeds of Pigs" in a future post on this blog.