I am teaching my five year old granddaughter to swim; it is a rewarding experience, a joy. Then, more additional joy, a small supplementary benefit; as I have survived sixty years the session is free.
After the interrogation by the receptionist as to whether or not I am sixty years old, a doubt that secretly pleases me, we are given a wrist band which the granddaughter takes to a screen in the wall to receive the code number of the locker we have been allocated.
We always share the same family cubicle in the communal changing rooms and chat while changing into our respective swim wear. The conversation has a decidedly schizophrenic flavour. One minute I am discussing the planet and stars with a teenager then it lurches to a 30 year old telling me how untidy her mother is (this to deflect my criticism of the way she throws her clothes in a heap on the floor), followed by a five year old earnestly explaining how she has brought her imaginary dogs and dinosaurs with her to the pool.
Once in the pool she remains in the role of the 5 year old where I teach her to swim and I am taught how to catch a miniature football. We have the same coaching methods which involve a lot of shouting insults and encouragement under the gaze of five Labradors and three Dinosaurs, which I understand watch from the pool edge.
Next time the smug receptionist will be told; 1 Adult over 60, 1 five year old child, 5 Labradors and 3 dinosaurs. Please.
The swimming is progressing well. She can swim almost a breadth of the pool, albeit at a forty five degree angle in the water.
As I stand over her giving noisy support I recall the time I taught her mother, a little older at the time. I had given her the goal of swimming a whole length. Approaching the final few yards, watched by her proud father and encouraged by shouts of encouragement and probably insults she slowly submerged. I remember the difficult decision; to stop her before she drowned or wait until she had succeeded by touching the end of the pool then perform a rescue and mouth to mouth resuscitation.
A mental note has been made not to do this with my granddaughter; her colourful description of such unconventional coaching methods will result in an equally colourful phone call from her parents.
We are always the last to be herded from the pool by the earnest attendants (Herded being the operative word in view of my granddaughters imaginary pets) then, after a hot shower we continue our bizarre conversations in the family changing room.
Later, as I drive away after delivering my slightly damp and shiny granddaughter with her relieved parents I am sure I can feel the warm breath of the three dinosaurs that are sat in a row on the back seat.
4 Comments on "Guest Post From Gramps – Jurassic Pool"
oh I love this. I also remember my kids with gramps learning to swim in south of france.
Oh I love Gramps’ posts, they always leave me with a warm feeling inside and the occasional lump in my throat. I remember when I learnt to swim the width of the pool, such a triumph!
I’m very impressed at you imaginary animal abandonment skills, ‘accidentally’ leaving them in Gramps’ car like that!
What a fab Grandad…and you both have a great time together, just the two of you, whilst the little one is learning a so important skill. You’ll soon be chatting swimming lengths!