Diving

The other day, at the pool, the Son of Never Stops Eating decided that he wanted to learn how to dive. 

He climbed out of the pool, stood on the edge, leaned over with his hands in the air, and belly-flopped in.  Not bad for your first try, I told him. Diving into a pool seems like a skill I've always known, although I'm sure at some point in the far reaches of the past someone had to have taught me.  The neighborhood pool I went to as a kid had two diving boards, a low one and a high one. I used to dive off the low one  pretending that I was an Olympic diver. In my head, I'd announce myself:

And now, the reigning world champion, representing the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! Cue wild cheers and bald eagles screeching in the background. I'd dive into the water, believing myself to be as graceful and elegant as a swan.  The diving judges in my head would give me 10's across the board, and I'd quickly prance on tiptoe over the hot as coals pavement to get back in line for another go at Olympic glory.  It's probably a good thing that no one had smartphones or YouTube back in 1983. 

My son tried to dive in several times but he just kept falling into the water, laughing most of the time.  Clearly, some vital connection was missing, but I couldn't tell what it was.  Finally, I decided he needed an example.  Maybe if he saw me do it, he'd figure it out.  So I stood next to him and told him, watch me.  I ignored my brain reminding me that I hadn't dived into a pool in years.  Muscle memory is a marvelous thing.

I plunged into the water, graceful as a middle-aged swan. Just as I surfaced, I realized I had both ears clogged up with water. 

The Son of Never Stops Eating shouted at me, "Like this, Mom?" and he proceeded to flop into the water again, feet first.  

One of the lifeguards got into the lesson.  Try kneeling down on one knee, he told my son.  One knee on the ground, push off with the other foot.  My son tried it.  He landed in the water sideways. Better, we encouraged him.  That was better!

I got out of the water again, deciding he needed to see someone else try the kneeling trick.  I knelt down on one knee, my knee cracking in protest.  Hey! my left knee yelled at me.  What do you think you're doing here? I thought we had an agreement! You don't kneel on me and I don't start hurting!

Also, my ears were still clogged with water.

The feet-first sideways landings into the water continued.  At least he was laughing about it.  I would have been getting frustrated.  In fact, I was getting frustrated with my own poor diving teacher skills.  I even tried incentivizing with a snow cone.  That click in the brain that would get him in the pool head first just wasn't activating.  Finally, he decided to give it up and try again some other time.  He didn't seem worried, or bothered, or discouraged.  It was just time to move on to something else. 

Meanwhile, I had chlorinated pool water sloshing around in my brain and my left knee was cussing at me and threatening to sue me for breach of contract.    But yeah, I still got the diving skills.  Such as they are.  If the Olympic diving team calls, I'll let you know.