| Swim, Baby, Swim |
By: By Susan Brooke Day - March 2008
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We were getting ready to enjoy a late afternoon swim at Caribe -- a pretty resort in Orange Beach, Ala., that my family visited last spring break. The sun spilled twinkling light over the wide crystalline pool. Because there was a chill in the late March air, I spread our towels -- still damp from the lazy river fun we'd just had -- over the few remaining chaise lounges with sunlight on them. This was at the shallow end of the enormous pool where the sprayground was located -- I knew my little 3-year-old Thomas would want to romp there. As I spread our towels, my older kids, ages 12, 10 and 8 made haste to the deep end and one of the spiraling water slides that propels swimmers into the pool with nary a chance of stopping. The three of them are strong swimmers, but Thomas and I would join them in just a moment.
Just a moment. That's all it takes.
While Thomas had been in the window of my peripheral, a second later he no longer was. He had sprightly followed the big kids with confidence -- especially since just before our trip to Caribe he had mastered his three-week swimming sessions with Miss Kennette -- his Infant Swimming Resource (ISR) teacher. Miss Kennette had taught him water survival skills as a precursor to out-and-out swimming lessons. He had mastered rolling onto his back in the water -- even in a full set of clothes -- and he could "rest" for a full 30 seconds before paddling to a wall or step nearby. But his zeal for water had already challenged me during our Caribe stay: He wanted to go down Caribe's many slides over and over again and so, time and time again, I waited at the base of each slide to receive him -- far from any wall, step or ladder. So now you get the picture.
My feet moved beneath me quickly on the damp pavement. I saw my older boys waiting for their turn on the slide nearest me. I saw my daughter laughing and splashing in the water, waving at me. But where was Thomas? My eyes darted quickly ... The other slide at the other side of the pool was a good 200 yards away ... "Alex! Where's Thomas?" I chortled, and she shouted back, laughingly, "I don't know, Mom!" ... And I moved around the slide ladder and started racing to the other slide ... No, no, no, I thought, my head shaking back and forth, heat spreading in my shoulders and neck ... The sun seemed to be setting now ... Only pockets of sunlight allowed me to see ... I looked over the water, up at the other slide, all around me, and then again. There! A tiny something in the middle of the deep end. Thomas! He was struggling to do his rest. Just his little head barely making it above water ... And then I was diving, stretching as far as I could in one bound to get to him.
I grabbed him just as his little head started going under. If I'd have been just a moment later, I might not have seen him. I gathered him and swam to the wall, feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest. i set him on the ledge of the pool, then climbed out with him. He was crying softly now. I carried him to a warm spot of evening sun, wrapped him in a towel and rocked him on my lap. I hummed so I wouldn't cry. My other children gathered around us. They wanted to know what happened. I smiled and rocked and then I whispered loud enough for his brother and sister to hear, "Good boy, Thomas! You did your rest! You did your rest!"
It was later that night when I cried. Telling my husband about it while our children slept. And thanking God, my lucky starts and ISR for my brave little boy.
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