Parenting at the Pool

My third child has no fear of the water. He is two and a half, built like a linebacker, and the kind of child who listens when I call him. But he has no fear. He does not wait timidly clinging to my leg when he could be splashing and enjoying the pool. His five year-old brother is also a fish. He loves to jump in the pool, paddle for a few seconds, jump back out again, and repeat. The pool is probably our greatest joy of summer. Until today anyway. Today I experienced a meddling Dad intent on “fixing” my bad parenting. I am still seething.

I believe strongly that children learn best by experience. No matter how many times I tell them not to touch a hot stove, they will listen most clearly to a burn on their hand. And I don’t think I have to follow my children around like puppy dogs, staying always within arm’s reach. Today at the pool was no exception. I was sitting on the lounge chair poolside, about eight feet from the zero entry side of the pool. I had been in the three foot earlier, splashing and bouncing with the boys. Then I was sitting on the side, letting the little monkeys crawl up and down my legs. After several sessions of playing, I was enjoying the show from the sidelines. The linebacker was happily splashing in about four inches of water, toddling awkwardly to water that was a little deeper, then back again. His brother was up to his neck, alternating the doggy paddle with treading water, and going to the shallow end to play with his bro. That is when the trouble started.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed what looked like the manager intently speaking with a man who had just brought his daughter in to play. I had noticed him earlier as he helped her don lotion and water wings for her trip into six inches of water, and then he proceeded to stand right next to her, holding her hand. She was at least three. He had to extract her from the pool, in fact, to go get the manager to tattle on me. I noticed the furtive glances toward my children before she finally strode in my direction.

“Are these your children?” she gruffly inquired. I nodded affirmatively. She then explained none to politely that they were entirely too young to be “swimming unsupervised”. A parent must be with them at all times.

I just do not understand how a child is going to learn to regulate himself or to live within boundaries if he is never given a chance to practice. My son does not fear water, but neither does he have a death wish. He faithfully waded into the deep water and then right back out again. I know my boys and I know their limits. I think they deserve a chance to play and frolic without Mommy magnetized to their sides. And I deserve a chance to sit down in the sun as well. Should an emergency occur, I could have reached either of my boys in seconds, not to mention the lifeguard who was even closer.

Yes, water can be deadly. But there is more than one way to make sure your children are supervised. Over-parenting can cause more fear and clinginess than a healthy distance, and that is not good in water or in life. So I will continue to give my boys some room, let them swim their own strokes and experience the pain of a belly flop gone wrong. And I will be right there with a towel and a snack when the break bell rings. They know where to find me.