my daughter – Jeanne Hewell-Chambers

my children can swim
thanks to my checkbook
and the efforts of one intrepid swimming teacher named mr. bob
who taught swimming lessons
in a lake.

a lake with a diving board.

students who arrived on time were ferried across the lake in a fishing boat.

students who arrived late
were walked to the other side by their mother –
one heavy screaming child attached firmly
and completely
to each leg.
(we were only late that one time.)

mr. bob explained
then showed
the would-be swimmers what to do.
“put your face in the water,” he’d say
before putting his own face in the water and blowing bubbles.
some did as they were told,
and they heard mr. bob clapping when they emerged.
others didn’t,
so mr. bob pushed their cute little heads under.
(that was the only time i used the binoculars.)
then, at the end of every hour-long lesson,
he put his sopping wet students back in the boat
and ferried them back to the other side of the lake
where with great fanfare,
he issued blue ribbons
he’d carefully cut
then embellished
with positive, encouraging, supportive words
he’d written in glitter glue.

finally it was the lesson
they’d been waiting for:
time to go off the diving board.
mr. bob ferried the boat to
the other side,
then ordered his students
to climb
one at a time
through the 2.25 clouds
to the tippy top of the diving board.
then he said simply,
jump.
some did as they were told,
and they heard great applause when they emerged.
others didn’t,
so mr. bob pushed them off.
and they emerged with a smile
to the sound of applause.

that afternoon the backseat was filled
with laughter and glee
and other sounds of
confidence gained from meeting a challenge head on.
“let’s go to yea yea’s pool,” they directed
from the backseat,
and so we went straight to my parents’ house
where they dragged the grandparents outside
to watch their new amazing feat.

daughter moxie sashayed to the end of the board
and jumped right off,
emerging with a smile to the sound of much applause.
son slug marched to the end of the board
and stopped.
he flat-out stopped.
he stood there shivering for a few minutes,
looking down at the water,
envisioning himself leaving the board,
entering the water,
and emerging with a smile
to the sound of great applause
and the full body feeling
of downright satisfaction.
but he just couldn’t coax his body to play it out.
so, finally,
with an full body sigh,
he looked across the pool at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said,
“mom, i guess you’re just gonna’ have to push me.”