LEARNING TO SWIM
Job is to teach children how to survive without a parental lifeguard
When we recite Psalm 23, often at funerals, we invoke God as a shepherd who leads us beside “still waters.” We try to bring comfort to mourners with a glimpse of serenity. Still waters — more literally, “waters of rest” — bring peace, not peril. There’s no current to carry us away, no waves or rip tides to engulf us.
Despite the availability of still waters at the local pool, both my children resisted their first swim lessons. My son is 5 and my daughter is 2, and since we recently moved to Houston from Colorado, swim lessons are a must. Our brilliant decision to move to Houston just in time for summer means we flock to the pool every chance we get: The Lord is my shepherd, who leadeth me beside cool waters. Yea, though I walk through the valley of perpetual humidity, I will fear no heat. Thy pond and thy splash, they comfort me ... .
There’s not much swimming in the Bible. If you can walk on water, there’s no need to learn the crawl. That said, the Hebrew prophet Isaiah compares God to a swimmer spreading out his arms, as God prepares to decimate enemy nations. Swimming is a metaphor for God’s dominion over the elemental force of water, which can be tamed for creation or unleashed for destruction, as in the Great Flood. Only the God of nature wields that power. Jewish tradition requires that parents teach their children to swim. The Talmud’s command uses a different verb than the prophet Isaiah, meaning “to float” or “to navigate through water.” It sets a more modest expectation, a standard more achievable than God’s absolute power over water. Teach your child how to get along through the water, it suggests. Prepare them to appreciate still waters and to navigate rough seas.
Underlying this advice is the notion that I cannot control the waves, although as a parent I want nothing more than to shelter my children from the breakers. What I can do, what I must do, is teach my children how to let a wave crash over them, or how to ride it to shore. My obligation is to set up my children to outlive me. My job is to teach them independence — they depend on me for that.
My children learned to swim faster than I expected. In a matter of weeks, they went from crying at poolside to
jumping in the deep end. It’s a testament to the quality of the swim teacher as well as the human drive toward independence and achievement. I remember this threshold from my own life in water, the fear that gave way to the exhilarating freedom of floating on my own. I still love that feeling. No wonder so many religions have rituals of immersion.
As my children’s anxiety fades, mine grows. The braver they get in the water, the more I worry. I’ve heard too many horror stories about kids and pools. I want to control everything, protect them from everything. To think I could ever shield them completely is a common parenting-induced delusion. Hence our prayers for “still waters”: The most fervent prayers come not from what we have but what we seek.
My children’s new independence in the water tugs at other heartstrings. It calls to mind the parenting paradox: Your job is to give your child roots and wings. It’s the same reason that parenting milestone cliches — first day of kindergarten, first ride without training wheels — are so poignant. They remind us parents that we are doing our job, which means our children are moving away from us into their future. Of course it’s what we want for them, but we process it as loss, too.
Signs that my children can survive without me remind me of my own mortality. Today I can stand in the deep end to catch my kids when they jump. One day they’ll be there without me, using what we practiced together.
My parents, now grandparents, have rediscovered the pool as a place to play with grandchildren. It has become a site for generations to connect. Also the water is for them, as for many seniors, a gym for low-impact cardio and strength training. The water that daunts and beckons young hearts also comforts aging muscles. The pool is a classroom for learning to work with what you’ve got.
As for me, I will keep praying that my children encounter only “still waters.” Life being what it is, I pray for wisdom to prepare them for the deep and rushing waters in their path. While I’m here, I’ll get a kick out of practicing with them in the pool. When I’m gone, I hope I will have taught them well enough how to swim.