Swimming, Part One

 I only know how to swim breast stroke, and here is why!

I love going to aqua aerobics in the mornings. I enjoy moving in the water, swimming a lap or two and the companionship of the other gym members. But I only swim in breast stroke. Here’s why.

When I was little, in the winters, we attended the same school for about four to five months One day in late November when I attended fifth grade I came home, looking for Mutti. She was in the living room, reading.

“Do I have a swimsuit, Mutti?”

She looked up from her book. “I think you do. Look in your drawer. Why?”

“The teacher said that we will have swimming lessons every Wednesday afternoon, right before we come home. I need to bring a swimsuit.”

“Okay. See what you can find.”

I dropped my satchel onto the kitchen bench and went into the bedroom, pulled out the drawer and dug through mine and Josefa’s underwear. Yes, there was a suit. It was a bright, cheery blue. I pulled it out, and while I was alone, took off my clothes and tried it on. It was a little tight, but still fit. “I found one, Mutti,” I called through the half open door as I put my clothes on again.

On Wednesday the teacher herded us into a school bus and took us to the local indoor pool. “Here are the dressing rooms,” he announced as we walked through the wet and bleachy smelling hallway. He pointed to one side. “This one is for the girls.” Go change into your suits, girls, and wait in the pool area.”

We dressed in the common area, and in no time were in the pool area. The teacher was already there. After all the children were assembled and the teacher had done a headcount (We were about sixteen children) he asked, “Which of you already knows how to swim?”

Three boys and four girls raised their hands. “Okay. You can go to the deep end and play until I’m done with the beginners. Then I’ll teach you some tricks.” He turned to the rest of us. “Line up in the water, please, hands on the rim.”

I followed the children into the pool, hanging on to the rim. The water was surprisingly warm, not as cold as it usually was in the outdoors pools we sometimes played in, in the summers.

Teacher had us line up on the rim of the pool and showed us how to move our legs in the breast stroke pattern. He left us to practice and went to work with the swimmers.

I enjoyed my swimming classes every week and practiced with enthusiasm. But I was a little too wary of the water to let go and let the water carry me. When classes were over in February, I still hadn’t learned how to swim, but I knew the breast stroke movements very well.

That summer I had the opportunity to visit an outdoor pool in one of the towns we held our carnival in. I played around in the shallow end, enjoying the cold water and the feeling of cleanliness it gave me.

“Let’s play together,” a local girl suggested, and we chased each other around in the water. Eventually she caught me and pushed me under. I was scared, but when I came up again she was laughing. “Your turn,” she said, and I dunked her. I pretended I liked to be dunked too, and by the end of our play my fear had gone.

As we ventured into a little deeper water, I pushed off the ground and actually floated. I remembered my breast stroke movements and before I knew it, I was swimming. I had a wonderful time practicing my swimming for two days and then it got cold and started raining, and I couldn’t go back to the pool.

I forgot that girl’s name, but I still remember how I wished I could have stayed her friend and not leave for the next town and the next carnival.

Tomorrow I’ll talk more about swimming