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Resolving to Become – Aquamom!
One mom’s story of how her son’s swim meets tested the limits of her abilities as a parental super hero
By Anna Seip
You hear a lot about soccer moms, but I’m not one of them. My role is more like Aquamom. No, I can’t breathe underwater. Nor do I possess superhuman swimming skills. My talents are even more amazing: I chauffeur my 12-year-old son to swim practice Monday through Friday and then sit through a five-hour swim meet on Saturday. Every week.
It all started last month when my son asked to join the swim team. Turns out, the girl who lives on our block is an active member. She’s also the kid who knocked on our door all summer and dropped loves notes through the mail slot.
I put off my son for a couple weeks while I weighed the options. The program was expensive, for one. We’d also need to buy goggles and “jammers” – a.k.a. bike shorts –for swimming.
“Nobody wears Speedos anymore, Mom, duh,” my son informed me.
Finally, I relented. What else would we be doing during those winter months usually spent cooped up in the house? My son’s lanky build would be perfect for slicing through the water, and the exercise would wear him out. As for me, I’d spend an hour each winter evening sitting on the bleachers, toasty warm in the pool room with a good book. Besides, I could keep an eye on my arch-nemesis, Love Note Girl.
The first night of practice, I brought a magazine.
“It’s really embarrassing when you read during practice,” my son said. “None of the other moms read.”
I assured him that Aquamom has the amazing ability to read “Vanity Fair” and to watch him swim – simultaneously.
The next night, two more Aquamoms brought magazines, too. As much as we love our kids and enjoy watching them perfect their 500-meter freestyle time, it’s OK to be honest and to say this out loud: swim practice is boring. Besides, if parents didn’t read during sports practices, we might never read at all.
After a couple weeks, our family woke early one Saturday for my son’s first swim meet. We brought our books, but it was too loud and too crowded to read.
All the swimmers are required to stay for the entire meet, the idea being that it’ll promote unity and good sportsmanship among the group. So, whether your child is swimming in Race 1 or Race 64, all the Aquaparents sit in the bleachers for five hours to watch what amounts to the two minutes of swimming they care about. Talk about superhuman capabilities.
Of course, my son was swimming, yep, 64th.
“Can’t we leave and bring him back later?” my husband asked.
“No, it’s a team sport,” I said.
“Swimming’s not a team sport. That’s like saying track’n’field is a team sport.”
“What about relay races?” I asked. “Those are team sports.”
“They’re not even watching each other swim.”
Pushing my way through the other Aquaparents, I peered down from the mezzanine at the swimmers. You couldn’t see a single face. Each kid – including my son – was crouched over a Gameboy and sitting on a towel. So much for team spirit.
Five hours later, it was time for Race 64. My son took his lane and swam the length of the pool and back.
I looked at the scoreboard and saw a backwards “6” next to his name.
“How’d he come in sixth? There are only five of them,” I said.
“That’s a ‘d’ – for disqualified,” my husband said.
Oh.
At the end of the day, I asked my son how he liked his first swim meet.
“The locker room was the best part!” he said. “We ran through the showers and snapped towels at each other.”
Only eight more meets to go. According to my calculations, that’s 40 hours of my son sitting on a towel playing video games and eight minutes that I get to watch him swim. That doesn’t even count the time spent at practice. Curses! It’s all Love Note Girl’s fault.
Anna Seip is the mom of a young swimmer.
By Metro Parent Staff
