The Trouble With...(Pt. 11)

Gosh, how I love to swim. After all these years, I still want to be in the water all summer long. I love the smell of the water. I love to fish. I love to be out in a boat. Being near open water is healing to my soul. If I’m stuck with going to a pool, then I guess that’s what I’ll have to use. I don’t prefer them, but they are fun!

For several years, our family vacations were spent at a few Ohio State Park Resorts. My husband would go to attend conferences, and we would pay the additional charge to bring the family. It was laid back, entertaining, informative, and there was always a pool. Some state park resorts have two pools: indoor and outdoor. I am not making this up. State park resorts are amazing. Be cautious of the wildlife, though. The Grassman is out there.

I may have mentioned once or twice that my son, Justin, could read. It is true. He was able to read, and he did read. Everything! I had a hard time keeping him from reading. Many times, I pulled books away from him so they would not be ruined by the weather; so he would not walk into something; so I could speak to him. Once he began playing, though, the books were an afterthought. When we were swimming, he was all in!

This brought new challenges. This meant that I had to make sure the kids weren’t trying to drown each other. It meant that we were in agreement about what toys were appropriate in the pool. (Electronics don’t do well in water.) It also meant that we followed the rules of the swimming area. The rules that are posted clearly are to be followed by the children. These are the things I ask. These are the simple things that I ask. Is it hard to expect such simple things?

My children could swim without supervision. That means they knew the rules, had the skills, were old enough (for the standards at the time), and knew what to do in an emergency. My children knew where we were at all times. This particular evening, we had gone to a hospitality suite to sharpen my adult language skills. (Moms, you know what I’m saying here.) My children were perfectly capable of spending a couple of hours at the pool without any issues. They had been doing this same thing all week, they could certainly have some free time now. My children. MY brilliant, very literate son.

THAT boy.

You know in the shallow end of the pool there are no less than three, perhaps five different painted notices around the edge of the pool that say, “no diving.” In letters bigger than a human being, painted on the floor of the pool as you look into it, it says, “NO DIVING,” on the shallow end of the pool. Stated clearly in the rules, it says, “1. No diving.”

A good time was had by all! The conference was a success. People could relax. We could get to know one another. We talked about things, life, families, hometowns, and everything in between. We had a marvelous time. We...had a little too much to drink. That's okay, we all said. We were not driving anywhere. Feeling good is not a crime. Alas, it was late, and we needed to retire for the evening. We headed off to our room. In reality, we stumbled.

I closed the door to our room and there was a knock. I thought the kids had a room key, so I was about to chew someone out for losing it. To my surprise, a man from the front desk staff was standing at the door. “Are these your children?”

The dread immediately turned to shock as I looked at my son. His face was covered in blood. The man had a towel held up to his head. Jamie rushed to the door, took ahold of Justin, and left the girls to manage alone. His explicit instructions for young Stephanie were, “Stay here and watch your mother!” (Truthfully, one of us had a lot more to drink than she should have. Names will be protected, here. Hint, it was not Stephanie.)

From the top of his forehead, including his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, his lips, and his chin he had the worst abrasion from scraping the bottom of the pool floor. He had to get stitches in the top of his forehead. I asked what happened and the first thing he told me was that he had dived in. I knew, and he knew that he had read ALL of the signs, multiple times. So…what?

Was I bound by parental law to give the “follow the rules” speech? There’s “a reason for rules! You learned the hard way. It could have been worse.” Blah, blah, blah. Should I be nurturing and empathetic? “Remember that time…, it will be okay, it will heal.” Did it matter? We’ve all broken a rule or two in the heat of the moment when we’re having fun, and not paying attention. Another lesson learned.

THAT boy. That brilliant, ridiculous boy. Naturally, we never let him forget it