Home of the Lions
Swimmer Gymnasts
This is my first swim event as swimmer-grandpa. In a past life, a generation ago I was a “gymnastics dad” at a time before silhouette car decals of cart-wheelers were popular or even existed. My memory comes back now – “I Love Gymnastics” was the (only) bumper sticker preferred in my “gymnastics dad” years, the late 1970s, the Nadia years.
Long Haul Parents
Waves of kids come and go here, first into the building, then incessantly back and forth from the pool to the gym. I move over to the pool area where races are grouped by age. Theoretically some waves should vanish as others appear, but this does not seem to be the case as the pool area crowd, if anything, grows.
Pressurized Predicament
I tell myself that the scene today is different from those “Nadia years” gymnastic days. But I am unsure about why. On the trip down this morning Emma (age 9), recognized her pressurized predicament just as my daughter Brett did in 1978. Emma was in the back seat as we rolled south on Interstate 287. She knew that she was on the swim team and despite the performance anxiety that she felt there was no turning back. She had no choice. Today I was driving my daughter’s SUV/Van. Thirty some years ago I was behind the wheel of my Datsun 210B hatchback with four nine year olds stretched horizontally in the way back. As the hatchback approached the gym I would say, “OK, here we are; this is the turn.” A chorus of voices would respond, “Keep going, we don’t want to go.” But they too knew that there was no fighting the inevitable. They were nine. This was life. They had no choice.
Body Art
Another new twist today is that the swimmers write on their body with sharpies. Newcomers like Emma with a swim-mom-challenged mother do not know what to write – nor do I - so Emma draws a smiley face on her arm. I gaze around at the other participants. No other smiley faces. Most seem to have what looks like Chinese letters printed on their arms which appears to my unfocused eye like biker tattoos. Could it be? I make it a point to decipher the body art. Finally I spy a serene looking kid and risk a question, “What did you write there?” I say to a girl standing with her mom. It is not Asian writing.
“It’s my events,” the girl tells me and her mom smiles. I am happy I did not offend her, always a concern when a senior citizen encounters a young celebrity athlete. I do make out a few other body-ink inscriptions without help. “Eat my bubbles,” is a popular one for Emma’s team. It is written across their backs. Cute.
I am in the basketball gymnasium of local community college. It’s a Sunday in November, 2010. “Home of the Lions” the scoreboard says. Approximately 200 un-lion-like children age 8 – 13 mill about before me. Most are barefoot, attired in wet bathing suits soaked from their recent excursion in the official Olympic size pool across the hall. They scurry about this gym dancing as they chatter, moving always with the grace and lightness of water bugs.
Between the pool and the gym is a hall that is filled with myriad tables where vendors (mostly swim moms) hawk various swim team necessities from chocolate chip cookies to the requisite bananas and apples, to sandwiches and pizza, to racks of swimsuits, goggles, flannel pajama pants (the travel attire of choice for swimmer kids), car decals for swimmer families, and, of course, tee-shirts. As you may have guessed I am at a swim meet – my granddaughter’s.
Invitational Meet
The event here today is labeled “Go for the Gold.” It is classified as an Invitational Swim Meet, as opposed to Dual, two teams, Invitational, from my perspective, means you’re here for the long haul – a full day.
The event here today is labeled “Go for the Gold.” It is classified as an Invitational Swim Meet, as opposed to Dual, two teams, Invitational, from my perspective, means you’re here for the long haul – a full day.
Swimmer Gymnasts
This is my first swim event as swimmer-grandpa. In a past life, a generation ago I was a “gymnastics dad” at a time before silhouette car decals of cart-wheelers were popular or even existed. My memory comes back now – “I Love Gymnastics” was the (only) bumper sticker preferred in my “gymnastics dad” years, the late 1970s, the Nadia years.
Actually it appears that kids still love gymnastics. Each corner of this gym today is packed with circles of small swimmer girls doing cart-wheels and round-offs in between their swim events. The gym floor is sprinkled with crumpled towels arranged by team. Intermittently an adult with a clipboard approaches a cluster of swimmer-gymnasts and dispenses essential information.
Long Haul Parents
Waves of kids come and go here, first into the building, then incessantly back and forth from the pool to the gym. I move over to the pool area where races are grouped by age. Theoretically some waves should vanish as others appear, but this does not seem to be the case as the pool area crowd, if anything, grows.
There is much down time in large (invitational) swim meets for nine to twelve year olds. Your child swims once – or twice, maybe three times – for a minute or two, whereas the meet itself - that’s a five hour event. Experienced parents prowl the hallway bending over the tables of swim gear and then moving along to check the time-sheets taped to the wall. In the pool area their seats are saved by piles of coats and towels. With them as well is a plethora of parent essentials. The most critical is the pass-the-time equipment such as fold-up chairs, books, newspapers, kindles, laptops, pencils, and also cameras, stop watches, meet programs and Speedo backpacks. Some parents yell encouragement at their children as they glide by in the water, their shouts timed with the part of the stroke that brings the swimmers ears above water. It is my opinion that the swimming children are oblivious to this, but I am uncertain. Coaches, pacing at poolside, also offer vocal encouragement, their shouts also timed to match their swimmer’s breaths.
Pressurized Predicament
I tell myself that the scene today is different from those “Nadia years” gymnastic days. But I am unsure about why. On the trip down this morning Emma (age 9), recognized her pressurized predicament just as my daughter Brett did in 1978. Emma was in the back seat as we rolled south on Interstate 287. She knew that she was on the swim team and despite the performance anxiety that she felt there was no turning back. She had no choice. Today I was driving my daughter’s SUV/Van. Thirty some years ago I was behind the wheel of my Datsun 210B hatchback with four nine year olds stretched horizontally in the way back. As the hatchback approached the gym I would say, “OK, here we are; this is the turn.” A chorus of voices would respond, “Keep going, we don’t want to go.” But they too knew that there was no fighting the inevitable. They were nine. This was life. They had no choice.
Body Art
Another new twist today is that the swimmers write on their body with sharpies. Newcomers like Emma with a swim-mom-challenged mother do not know what to write – nor do I - so Emma draws a smiley face on her arm. I gaze around at the other participants. No other smiley faces. Most seem to have what looks like Chinese letters printed on their arms which appears to my unfocused eye like biker tattoos. Could it be? I make it a point to decipher the body art. Finally I spy a serene looking kid and risk a question, “What did you write there?” I say to a girl standing with her mom. It is not Asian writing.
She holds up her arm. I see tic-tac-toe-like lines with words and numbers – in English.
“It’s my events,” the girl tells me and her mom smiles. I am happy I did not offend her, always a concern when a senior citizen encounters a young celebrity athlete. I do make out a few other body-ink inscriptions without help. “Eat my bubbles,” is a popular one for Emma’s team. It is written across their backs. Cute.
The Young and the Befuddled
There are numerous grandparents here and to a person they seem especially befuddled, if not outright unhappy. Stuck in a traffic jam comes to mind. I think that the wet concrete bleacher seating may be an issue, as well as the muggy heat-wave-like weather in the pool area, which could be especially harsh on overly bundled seniors. But I may be projecting my own thinking on them. Honestly - I jest, because I am not unhappy, not at all. At age seventy this is my greatest joy, not so much the meet, nor the competition but just being around the happy kids, watching their enthusiasm whether they are cart-wheeling or paddling through water. And about the water - these young kids all go full force, up, back, up, back, four times – in practice, eight laps - slapping the water with a vengeance, kicking on and on without let up. I am overly impressed. Thankfully, it seems, there is not a heightened emphasis on winning, though I could be naive about that. In the meantime, knowing that Emma is part of this group, that she is such an athlete. Honestly, it warms my heart – immensely.
There are numerous grandparents here and to a person they seem especially befuddled, if not outright unhappy. Stuck in a traffic jam comes to mind. I think that the wet concrete bleacher seating may be an issue, as well as the muggy heat-wave-like weather in the pool area, which could be especially harsh on overly bundled seniors. But I may be projecting my own thinking on them. Honestly - I jest, because I am not unhappy, not at all. At age seventy this is my greatest joy, not so much the meet, nor the competition but just being around the happy kids, watching their enthusiasm whether they are cart-wheeling or paddling through water. And about the water - these young kids all go full force, up, back, up, back, four times – in practice, eight laps - slapping the water with a vengeance, kicking on and on without let up. I am overly impressed. Thankfully, it seems, there is not a heightened emphasis on winning, though I could be naive about that. In the meantime, knowing that Emma is part of this group, that she is such an athlete. Honestly, it warms my heart – immensely.
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