You stepped off the bus from Scout camp with a resolute, yet pleased, expression on your face. Careful not to come over to me until you were sure you had been dismissed (unlike your brother…also at said camp), you walked across the car park and I momentarily lost all perspective. Who was this girl? Was it possible to grow three inches in a week? We now are almost the same height, and a week of learning new skills and tools had matured you in subtle, beautiful ways.
At the strangely vacant pool on the weekend, you and your brother goofed off in the leisure section for a while, until those few years of age difference started to show, as they’re doing more and more often lately, when Riley became ‘annoying’ and you left him to go to the slow lap lane.
Wading into the water, you adjusted your googles and stood on the centre black line. Men in the faster lanes glanced across, surprised. Once it was clear you were there with a purpose, and not to interuppt or irritate their time, they resumed their laps. Sinking to your shoulders, you pushed off from the edge and coasted down the pool. Arms in front for the first metres, like a bowsprit on a ship, you then brought your right arm out and over, then the left, freestyling along with your still-jerky, but improving, stroke. With steady pace, you made it all the way to the end and returned. A woman arrived while you were at the opposite end, and was also taken aback when you made your way back and you stood up, when she realised you were a child. She took off and you fell in to that courteous rhythm, keeping distance between each other as you swam.
Eventually you tired and hopped out to go join your brother on the water slide. You emerged from the pool into another phase of your girlhood. I’ve been watching for months. I will never tire of it. Swimming is a kind of miracle of grace and buoyancy; how graced am I to have a daughter who makes me so buoyant? I keep asking myself that question. How lucky am I? Answer: the luckiest.
