One mother revels in the ritual of swimming lesson sign-up day
Originally published Sunday, August 24, 2008 at 12:00 a.m.
Updated Sunday, August 24, 2008 at 12:00 a.m.
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Stumble It!FAIRBANKS — My son is learning to swim. He works on his flutter kick in the bathtub, riding the porcelain waves while his moon face struggles to stay above the horizon. Eyelashes soaked to three times their normal size ring his wide eyes before he squeezes them shut to dive under again.
He’s come a long way since the winter, when I announced that we were signing him up for lessons. “I already know how to swim,” he said with all the confidence of a boy who could walk around in the shallow end, arms flailing. If he could only stay this way, just turned four and an expert at everything.
I wanted to be a swimmer when I was young, ever since I learned how at free lessons offered by the public high school. Since we didn’t have a pool, I never knew the perfection of springing off the side from a motionless stance, one foot on the block and one foot back, my arms outstretched and my hands cupped in the perfect angle of attack, reaching for palms of water to propel me to the finish line.
Alaska seems to have a good program with new kids joining the competition each year, so I harbor hopes that my son will get hooked. The thing every parent tries to avoid but gets sucked in like the undertow is living their dreams through their children.
Still, we should all know how to be safe in the water so I took advantage of the beginner lessons offered by the Fairbanks North Star Borough. The only drawback is the lack of space. Since sign ups are on a first-come, first-serve basis, a looming potential for failure spurs parents to reach for greater feats of strength to prove their kids deserve a spot.
For my first attempt, I accompanied a friend who knew the routine. We made plans to share coffee and chair duties, car pooling to the pool, where we would wait outside in 20-below temperatures until the building opened. From there, I was warned, we would get a number and then have to wait some more. Until it was time to pay.
The doors were already open when we arrived, so we squeezed into the foyer’s worth of space, taking advantage of the heat and the satisfying hum of the waiting chatter. I liked it, leaning against the glass doors, watching the parents talk about swim teams and lessons. There was something comforting about the routine.
With another 30 minutes to go, a bogged-down mother appeared, infant car seat on one arm, cup of coffee in the other, wearing the kind of look on her face that tells the world this is not an easy job. She huffed and shuffled the weight of her load from one hip to the other.
“You people know you’re bringing this on yourselves,” she announced to the room. “If we all just came when the doors opened, we wouldn’t have to wait.”
We absorbed her words, but the happy hum of voices soon started up again. Even though she was right about the actions of humans waving patterns and rituals that sometimes become a reason for themselves, most of us were content to be there, even if the routine didn’t make much sense.
The crowd kept track of each arrival, so we all knew our place in line. When it was time to go inside in an orderly fashion, we took turns picking a spot for our kids. Then we arranged ourselves on the couches and chairs in the comfortable lobby, pulled out snacks and knitting projects while we waited to pay our fees.
There’s an urban legend hovering over this routine that says some of the parents don’t actually mind. They look at the waiting ritual as a chance to get away from the house for awhile. To wait in adult silence with friends before the tug of kids on our hands takes away any chance for an uninterrupted conversation.
For me it was a rite of passage, like sleeping out all night for front row seats at a performance of your favorite band, the kind of tradition that might not last, now that on-line reservations keep us all separate in our homes, tapping keys or asking an operator for tickets. Going through the shared ritual somehow makes the whole thing more memorable.
So I’ll be showing up again this fall to sign my son up for lessons. He wants to learn how to swim across the pool underwater and pick something off the bottom. He wants to swim in the ocean, streaking through the waves like they were made of air. Now he sees a hint of how much more there is to explore, even if you already know how to swim.
Theresa Bakker lives with her family in downtown Fairbanks, where she finds plenty of things to write about. Contact her at theresabakker@yahoo.com.
Community Discussion
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There are always fun and interesting people to talk to while waiting in the line to sign up for swimming, so I can't say that there isn't some enjoyment. Nonetheless, the system of signing up for swimming lessons with the Borough is ridiculous and archaic. With the technology available today there is no reason to continually use this system - let the public sign in using computers and the internet! Public computers can be found at the library for those people who don't have a computer at home.
We did this for 1 session and had a great time with the swimming lessons. It's ridiculous that the program is so limited for space and is reduced to an endurance competition. For parents who have to work and don't need an excuse to "get out of the house" it's difficult to justify having to take several hours off of work to stand in line for swim lessons.
So no more swimming lessons for us, I guess we'll have to look into joining the Alaska Club. Oops, nevermind... here comes that looming fuel bill ruining all the fun!
This process is very inefficient and definately is biased to those people who can afford to stay at home and have support network to care for their dear children while they go stand in the "Rock Concert" line for 4 hours to get a spot in swim lessons. I tried this out a couple of times and have been in the position of having to miss pay at work in order to enroll my children in swim lessons only to stand in the line for 2 hours to find out the last spots for the age group lessons I needed were given out to the people in front of me in line. I also know it is not a social hour over coffee when you have to bring children along for the wait. Although I feel it is very important for children to learn to swim especially given the outdoor activities near water in Alaska, I am sure I am not the only one who has just given up on the process and left it to those who are willing to "out wait" me.
BTW - arcticmommmy - The Alaska Club usually offers lessons for non-members based on availability. It costs a little more than it would if you had a membership (and more than the lessons offered by the borough and supported by my tax dollars) but the signups are nothing like this nightmare and for me worth not missing work or having the aggrivation.
Thank you for the response! I will definately look into the athletic club as another option. On a side note...I wonder how many Dads were waiting in that line. Why is that we mother's seem to be the ones doing most of the "little things" like signing up for lessons, organizing school events, etc. Oh and then when we do these things it's treated as a "social hour" with friends. I'd like to see a room full of Dads lugging around infant car seats, chasing 4 year olds, taking 3 hours off of work to stand in line for these lessons. Perhaps I'd get out a lawn chair and watch that. =)
I've been through the swim sign up process as well and agree it is baloney. This article felt like a slap in the face for those of us who do not have the luxury of attending these sign ups due to work obligations(including being respectful to co-workers), not able to afford to give up 2 or 3 hours of work as well as too long a wait for for those of us who do have to bring children. I "share" the perspective the sign up "ritual" is archaic,biased,inefficient and might I add dreadful. It's a shame the process continues to be so poor.
I have to agree with the comments here. Swim sign-ups are absolutely ridiculous. Our oldest child is 13 and signing her up for her first swimming lessons was nowhere near the ordeal it is now. I understand that space is limited, but there just has to be a better way to do it. We're fortunate that our oldest two children have managed to get through levels 4 and 5, but our youngest has had just one session of lessons because of the ridiculous hassle.
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