Yesterday afternoon I had to experience a moment of being something I rarely think of myself as...heartless. My oldest grandson, Ben, is 4. He is curious and happy and enjoys so many things....but not swimming lessons. I pick him up at daycare to take him to swimming lessons at the Swim School once a week. I wait with him there while he gets more and more nervous. On most days, I leave when one or the other of his parents comes to take over. But not yesterday. Ben looked at me with his huge brown eyes brimming with tears and asked me to stay and watch him for the whole lesson. I knew it would be difficult for me, both because it was about 150 degrees and because I knew I would be watching my precious grandson be terrified. He was so dutiful and stoic about the whole thing, walking to where his teacher, Mr. Tyler was waiting in the pool. Tyler first asked Ben if he was going to be able to smile today. I saw the back of Ben's head nod, but I knew by Tyler's hearfelt grin that what he was looking at was not a smile. Ben actually managed a dog paddle across the pool and back. When he climbed out, he left the poolside and came towards where his Mom and I sat. I thought he was just giving up and was going to beg us to take him home. But mounted on the wall near us was a ship's bell. When someone at Swim School does something new or really good, they get to go ring the bell. Then everyone in the pool applauds for that person. He walked back to the pool like a doomed man, resigned to his sentence. Had the cheers of everyone in the pool not even perked him up? Hopefully, somewhere inside his little heart, he was proud of himself.
After a few minutes, Tyler did a trick that made my grandmother heart want to leap into protect mode. He distracted Ben's attention by saying, "Hey, Ben, what's that!" and pointed off to the side. When Ben's head turned, Tyler pushed him on the back and into the pool. My first thoughts were, "What a jerk! What a bully!" But I knew that couldn't be the case. As Tyler pulled the trick on Ben two more times, I rationally thought it through. In his life, Ben will encounter bullies and jerks and maybe just well-meaning friends who might push him into a pool or lake and catch him off-guard. How infinitely better for this caring teacher, with a firm hand on his back, to teach a little boy how to get back to the surface, to get back to the side, and to pull himself up and out of the water.
When the 30 minutes were up, and Ben had endured bravely all he could, he walked briskly to his Mom. He buried his face in the towel she had, and broke down and cried all the tears he'd been holding back. I, too, cried some of the tears, I'd been holding back. I hurt for him, but I was also thinking of tears shed by another family last year. You see, there are quite a few African-American kids taking lessons at the Swim School now. When I see them, I remember that last summer, a family in Shreveport lost six of their children on one hot afternoon when they drowned in the Red River. It made the national news and stories were done about how few African American children ever learn to swim. All children need to learn to swim.
So the next time it's time for a swim lesson, I'll pick Ben up and take him there. I'll watch him with love and pride and try to not to bristle when Mr. Tyler pushes him in. I'll be heartless. Because I'll be reminding myself of the most important thing...that Ben's smile is a smile I want to see for the rest of my life.
Ben
