Nothing says love like icy water

Without the dark months and the retreats into the musings of our soul, the joyous jumps into the cool chlorine waters of Southampton would seem normal.  But they are not.  The are the most exceptional gift we have given our children beside love, food and school (and sometimes that has been sketchy).  One Monday every May Swordfish arrival in carpools and on bikes and with hands held to dip into the chilly waters of SRA.  From the miniest of mites wondering what their parents have done to them to the hippest of seniors who whine most heartily of the temps, kids for around our town come to check out their friends and see who has changed and who will brave that first seasonal practice. 


For five years my boys have amazingly and achingly wandered out of the car, across the lawn, and into the concrete play-yard of the those willing to don the speedo in temps not usually kind.  As mentioned in previous blogs this year is Porter's first which garnered the significant reaction, "I hate swimming!  I am not going to swim."  As I practiced breathing through the fact I had just spent the money to sign him up and had even sharpied his swim cap, I mentioned that I had brought a lollipop if he would like it at the end of practice. Who knew a dumdum could be so powerful?  Nary a cry passed from his lips as his joined in the throng of eight and unders on the pool deck to watch their coaches jump in and splash.

We are lucky to have such coaches who happily engage the whims of each swimmer novice and expert alike while willing to freeze a little for the team.  Nothing is as sweet as watching Mike Peters take on the splashes in the face.  And the little boys love Virginia and Anne Byrd.  They don't know why, but they do.  And they comply.

So here begins the summer in the waning days of spring as the vestiges of wool sweaters and snow shovels find their homes until needed again.  Let the sunshine in!