Lifesaving lessons

Beth Stephenson shares a story about why swimming lessons are so important.

is the season of water sports and air conditioning, icy drinks and ice cream cones. It’s also the season of teaching the tadpoles to swim.

I remember the exciting smell of chlorine and rubber bathing caps beckoned me to hurry into my swimsuit at the high school swimming pool. The rubber flowers on my cap flapped gracelessly as the foggy morning breeze nipped my snowy skin.

Nowadays, kids have a huge variety of “camp” opportunities during the summer months and the tradition of swimming lessons is not as iron clad as it once was. In fact, even in my children’s generation, I rationalized my way out of swimming lessons. They learned to keep themselves afloat and doggie paddle, but they never had formal lessons.

So when my middle son, Daniel, applied for a job at a boarding school for troubled boys, he had to admit that he was not a skillful swimmer. He was 6-foot-3, however, built like Mr. Clean and just as bald. The fact that he was applying to grad schools to be a psychologist was probably secondary to his muscles in landing him the job.

Part of the rehabilitation for the boys was to train for a triathlon. The coach laughingly told him that he soon would be a competent swimmer. Every day, he would spend at least an hour in the pool, swimming with the students. Biking and running also helped get him into the best condition of his life. But most importantly for this story is the fact that he became an excellent swimmer.

Fast forward four years. Daniel has completed his doctoral program and when he finishes a one year internship, he’ll be a licensed psychologist.

He’s also a husband and a father. Last weekend, he was picnicking at Cheat Lake near Morgantown, West Virginia, with his family. They were splashing and playing on the sandy beach as they watched a group of young adults swim out far beyond the designated swimming area. Suddenly, they heard one of the young men calling for help and splashing around.

Daniel and Lindsay stopped playing and watched, thinking for a moment that the kid was joking. One of his companions swam over to help, but after a brief struggle, the friends separated with the one still calling for help.

Daniel charged into the water and quickly went into triathlon mode. By the time he reached the drowning swimmer, the boy had sunk below the surface. Daniel pulled him up and placed the drowning young man’s hands around his neck. Though not an ideal lifesaving technique, his strength and stamina enabled him to bring the boy back to shore alive.

“I was really tired,” Daniel admitted.

The young man sat on the shore quietly for a while. He explained to Daniel that he had a heart condition, and his stamina had given out. Daniel didn’t think to ask his name.

As his mother, I tremble to think of the alternative outcomes to my son’s act of heroism. How many mothers have grieved for their sons or daughters who gave their life for their fellow Americans.

But somewhere in West Virginia, there’s a family that is NOT in mourning. There’s a young man with his whole life still ahead of him. I’m grateful that I don’t have to pay the consequences of deciding that swimming lessons were too inconvenient or too expensive.

I’m proud of my son, but I know that as an American, he grew up thinking in terms of community spirit and watching out for others. It’s part of our national culture. Equal rights translates into equal concern for others.

So heroes are fine, but they’re not uncommon. Every town, every neighborhood has their share. Perhaps their deeds are not usually so dramatic, but everyone caring for others, as well as we can help make America great.

Only in America. God bless it.