Call Me Intrepid

Yesterday was my Beloved Niece's 2nd birthday, and she came over to Grandma and Auntie's house to celebrate with a little dip in the pool!

Caroyln was fearless in the water, attempting to put her entire face in, pushing away from Aunta and Mommy to swim on her own, decisively wanting to be "Intrepid Pool Baby." Luckily, she has a former lifeguard for an Aunt, who watched her every move and taught her to blow bubbles. (Yes, at just two years old! I'm so proud.) Joy of water is genetic, passed on from my father, to me, to my niece. Whether Carolyn takes after her grandfather, skimming the surface with a blazing freestyle, or sinks like a stone a la Grandma Carmen, only time will tell.

Her joy expressed in simply splashing around reminded me of my own aquaphilia. I spent more than a decade of summers in my teens and twenties teaching children the joy of swimming and lifeguarding, getting awesome tans, racing sailboats, watching hot boys in wet bathing trunks... As adult responsibilities, i.e., pursuit of the glorious dollar, forced me to take jobs requiring pantyhose and non-swimming suits, I lost the glee of simply splashing around, being one with sun and water in summer's embrace. When did I lose my love of swimming? When did it become a chore instead of play? And most importantly, what other joys have I relegated to bothersome? Is such behavior quintessential to maturity, or is it giving in to life's demands?

All I ever want Carolyn to worry about poolside is whether she has enough sunscreen to protect her beautiful, precious face as she merrily swims and plays, safely and strongly. It is Aunta Laura's job to not only engender Carolyn's love of the water, but most importantly to teach Respect (with a capital R) for it. The catch to teaching swimming is to not let respect of the water become fear or boredom; there is enough of each in the world. Oh please, let swimming remain her joy!

I used to read incessantly; Lyme disease robbed me of that pleasure. Exercise? Lyme stymied that as well. Even doing a few laps with a kickboard yesterday left me dizzy and spent. There isn't one iota of my life that chronic illness hasn't raped or punished; finding joy is near impossible, and going for the brass ring is out of the question because I now get too dizzy and sick on the Merry-Go-Round. Blessedly, there is a source of abundant joy only 30 miles away, a two year old whose presence yesterday reminded me of one of the grandest joys of my childhood, taking "A little dip!" with Daddy.

So Carolyn - you wanna take a little dip with Aunta?