One of my earliest memories is from a summer holiday in Biarritz, France. Waves crashing over me, my legs whipped out from beneath me, and being dragged out with the receding tide. Then there was a hand grabbing me and pulling me back and returning me to the beach. I was about three and a half, the same age as Bean is now. When we got back home my folks enrolled me in swim classes.
The swim lessons were in an old Victorian public baths where the chlorine rose in clouds from the surface. I was never fast, but swimming is pretty much the only sport I ever took to, and I miss it. I’m so excited for Bean to learn and once I can tear myself away from watching her during her lesson I’m going to jump right in there. Just as soon as I stop clapping like a drunken seal on the beach and turn off the helicopter parent rotor. Just what is the right age to step away from the sidelines? Is three and a bit still too young?
Grow family. Grow! 