The Pool

Growing up, my family and I would drive up to Boston to see our relatives every year. I remember never being able to sleep the night before, so excited to see everyone again. My sister and I are two of eleven cousins, so you can imagine that this annual one week trip was absolute, joyful chaos. Nothing but swimming, snacking, and laughing until the sun went down, only to rinse and repeat the next day.

I've been thinking of these summer days more frequently since moving in with my site host family. My host mom is one of six siblings, and together they have a total of -ironically- eleven kids. They all come to my Yai's noodle restaurant (nextdoor to us) for dinner every night, which means every night it's a party. It's fun to watch: the older cousins play dominoes at the small marble table, the younger cousins run around out front blowing bubbles, and the adults sit on various benches and chairs eating and talking about their days. I understand roughly thirty percent of it, but it's nice to have the company.

Like the Maginnis cousins, the cousins in this family could not be more different from one another. Some are loud and funny, some are hesitant and thoughtful, some are too little to tell yet. Today, I'm writing about one that gave me a much needed reminder.

This evening, I went to the pool by our house with my host mom, uncle, and three cousins, Meji (11), Peach (9), and Ivy (8). Of all the cousins, I would say I know these three the best. They're currently on summer vacation, so you can usually find them in the living room dancing along to their favorite music videos. The girls were excited to be going out, and even more excited that I agreed to get in the pool with them.

As soon as we arrived, the girls jumped out of the truck and raced for the changing rooms. We put on our swimsuits and jumped in. I began walking towards the deeper end of the pool, then turned around and said to Peach"Come on! Come with me!" she stayed at the shallow end, looked down, and shook her head. Embarrassed because I didn't realize she could not tread water yet, I walked back. "That's okay!" and we played in the shallow end for a bit.

Then, Peach started saying "Teacher, stand here." I would do as I was told, and she'd go to the wall of the pool, kick off and flutter into my arms. She'd swallow half a gallon of water on the way, and I'd pick her up and say "you okay?" She would always respond,"okay. Again." We did this repeatedly, and every time we started again, she would have me stand farther away from her, until it reached a distance where she did not have a choice but to swim. There were moments where she would panic and I would have to grab her, but eventually she started to get the hang of it. She'd reach my arms and I would ask "Do you want a break?" and she'd shake her head furiously. "Again."

We did this for almost an hour, and soon she was saying "Yai! Watch me! Watch me!" She was gaining confidence. I would put my hands out to help her and she would push them away. By the end of the night, she could swim the length of the pool almost completely on her own. When we got out and dried off, she let out a sigh, that I knew was partially from exhaustion, but mostly from satisfaction.

Please don't misunderstand, this is not a story about me teaching a little girl how to swim. This was a little girl who saw what she wanted, put her goggles on, and taught herself. And in the process, she taught the old foreign teacher something, too.  Peace Corps volunteers are talked to at length about the importance of resiliency, and I thought I had the gist of that until I watched this little girl swim today. If she can fall underwater, get water in her throat and eyes and still be determined to get to the other side of that pool, how come I can't get through writing one lesson plan without whining?

So, when you get back to work on Monday morning after the Easter festivities, and you're wondering how you're gonna push through another day of tasks that overwhelm and frustrate you, I hope you remember this girl and her over-sized goggles who just kept swimming.

If she could do it, we can, too.

Happy Easter.