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In the pool, determined swimmer teaches life lesson
to his coach
By Maddie Wilson
September 21, 2007 | I never thought I would learn
one of my toughest life lessons at a swimming pool.
Actually, I must admit I am still trying to learn
it. Everyone Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Sean walks
into the pool for swim team practice and yells "hi"
to his coach, which would be me. He always puts his
clothes in the same spot, on the bin, which holds the
aerobics belts. He always walks over to me and asks
how early he is for his practice time.
"Only 15 minutes early today, Sean," I tell him.
"Maybe I could get in and start early," he says, and
then pauses. "Wait, if I did that, would I have to swim
more than usual?"
"Um, yes, Sean."
"Well, I don't want to get too tired, so I'll just
wait."
He then goes and sits with his chin resting in his
hands on the large wooden crate behind me while I coach
the other swimmers. When it is finally 5 p.m., Sean's
group excitedly jumps in. Sean asks me what lane he
should be in, and when I tell him, he heads over and
yells, "Is there anybody in my way? I'm gonna jump!"
I tell him the coast is clear and he cannon-balls in
and starts swimming down the pool. All the swimmers
start swimming down the pool; but with Sean, it's different.
Sean is blind.
I've tried to imagine what it would be like to swim
blind, and it scares me. I've swum with my eyes closed
before, and I completely lose all sense of direction.
I crash into the lane lines and feel like I'm suffocating.
And swimming is not easy for Sean, either. We have
had many scary experiences. Sometimes, suddenly, I hear
choking, splashing, gasping for air and screaming. Sean
has lost control, or has hit his head and starts panicking
in the middle of the pool. I have to call over to him
and tell him to grab onto the lane line until he catches
his breath. He has not been able to dive yet because
he fears plunging headfirst into something he isn't
even sure is there to catch him. Sean has often broken
down and cried because of not being able to dive or
being frustrated at not doing a stroke drill correctly.
However, Sean does not give up. And he gets down on
me when I try to let him off easy during certain parts
of the work-out.
"I want to do everything the other kids are doing."
"I don't want to be anything less than the others."
"I really want to be able to dive," are statements I've
heard numerous times. One day, after finishing his leg
of a relay that he struggled with, he exclaimed, "I
want to be able to do this!" And he's there every Monday,
Wednesday and Friday living up to that statement.
As I watch Sean battle this trial in the pool, I am
inspired and ashamed. Is there anything in my life as
scary as Sean's battle that I face on a daily basis?
Sometimes from the way I whine to my husband, it would
seem like I'm out fighting a world war on my own every
day.
I don't do well with affliction. I want to live the
life of Disneyland where everything is a fairy tale.
I consider my day a failure and become depressed when
I can't think of what to eat for lunch. But I am learning
from Sean that life can be great even with letdowns
and hardships. Even after a practice full of choking,
banging heads with another swimmer while doing backstroke,
and scraping shoulders on vicious lane lines, Sean comes
up to me with a smile on his face before he leaves and
says, "I worked hard today, didn't I?" With happiness,
inspiration and tears welling up inside of me, I say,
"You did a great job today, Sean. I'm so proud of you."
Although it's an ongoing lesson I'm learning from
Sean, I know it is meant to be that I learn this great
life lesson at the swimming pool. It's all about attitude
and perspective. Happiness really is not given freely;
it must be chased after. Or swum after. I am reminded
of this every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when I see
Sean almost skip out of the pool, with his cane leading
the way.
NW
RB |
