Yesterday, with permission from the official swim instructor, I anointed myself nervous Will’s personal swim teacher and spent the entire swim lesson in the pool with him. He wanted to be nowhere near his class, but when we got off on our own he was willing to bob and blow bubbles out his nose and do a thrashing kind of full-body swim that was fun to watch even if I was stuck in a constant squint keeping the water out of my eyes. By the end of the “lesson,” he was ready to tell his real teacher what he’d accomplish. “I put my head under water,” he said. “But I still have to get used to doing stuff with you.”
So if it turns out that swim lessons are just an excuse to cart ourselves off to the pool eight times in two weeks so that I can coach Will toward something sort of resembling swimming, so be it. Since he’s still thinking of it as swim lessons, he’s pretty willing to spend the bulk of the time practicing his crude water skills. And to be honest, it’s more fun for me too. We’ll still keep encouraging him to rejoin his class and his official teacher, but I’m more interested in keeping him in the water than forcing him to keep with his class.