I wonder sometimes how I survived my childhood. Seriously.
When I was very young, my family spent the summers at Varadero Beach. The entire summer. (I know. So cool, right?) You see, it was way too hot in the city (Havana) to just sit around. So we went to the beach house, Villa Obdulia, along with all the cousins.
In retrospect, I don't remember anyone teaching me to swim.
They dragged me (!) into the water, and occasionally an uncle would let me cling to his back as he walked out to the sand bar. (I could never get there on my own being less than four feet tall, but that's not important right now.)
But I did have a "salva vida." A life saver. In the form of… an inflatable duck. An INFLATABLE DUCK, people! (I wish I was making this up.)
After we left Cuba, we continued our habit of spending summers at the beach – sort of. We would drive out to Crandon Park on Key Biscayne in Miami. "El Charquito." Or The Puddle. No waves. No worries.
My sisters and I spent all of our time in the water.
It had not occurred to anyone at this point to teach us to swim. (I know. Shut up.)
Eventually, we moved to California. We lived in Santa Monica, to be exact. The water at the beach here in So Cal was cold and crazy. And there were waves. Not just the rolling-in-isn't-that-a-soothing-sound kind of waves. The kind that tumbled you around like a washing machine.
There was an art to dealing with these monsters. You had to get really far out and close to them before they broke. Which meant going out sometimes past where we could touch.
And we got very good at praying "Ay Dios mio! Don't let me die!"
So I'll concede that we did get rudimentary How-To-Survive-in-Rough-Surf Lessons. But just good old-fashioned swimming lessons? Not so much.
It wasn't until a neighbor and friend (who used to take the Cuban girls to the beach) noticed that we were more floundering than floating and so convinced my mom that she really needed to sign us up at the local YMCA for swimming lessons.
I was ten.
I'd like to point out that I had never, ever, been afraid of the water. No matter how much tumbling and near-death experiences we had, we kept going right back in.
Imagine my delight with the new-found ability to propel myself through the water by the synchronized movement of my arms and legs!
Front stroke! Back stroke! Dog paddling! Look at me go!
They even taught us how to dive. I became a diving fool. Two feet was the same as twelve feet. I was fearless.
What a wonderful thing I'd discovered!
And so, those swim lessons at the Y carried me through the rest of my life. Up until now.
We belong to our local YMCA. And from the time my kids were babies I have made sure they've had lessons and all four are not only water-safe, but wonderful swimmers.
We go to the Y regularly to swim laps and cool off on the days we're not at the beach.
In my mind, I was gracefully swishing across the Olympic pool, staying in the middle of the lane lines and rhythmically crossing the length of the pool. Back and forth in a beautifully choreographed ballet.
The truth: I was sputtering and splashing and kept hitting the lane lines, and gulping for breath and swallowing water.
So, I made a cataclysmic decision: I would take adult swim lessons at the Y. (Don't judge me.)
I found myself in class with seven other people. Many of whom were working through some life-long fears of the water. Which meant that I, with my 5th grade swim lessons, got to have an instructor all to myself.
She helped me finesse my style. Breath steadier, pull harder, kick better. And now I can swim laps like the rest of the cool kids. I even got myself goggles and a cap.
(Umm….no, I am not posting any photos of myself with the cap & goggle combo. Let's just say I look very much like an alien. That is all. Shut up.)
I still love the water. And it's only taken me forty-five years to perfect my stroke. 😉
When did you learn how to swim? (Or did you?) Tell me.
"Just keep swimming." ~ Dory, from Finding Nemo
Excellent post. I was about twelve, having been terrified of the water as a kid. I believe my abuelita’s warnings about bull sharks and fragile sand banks and “NO DAS PIES! SE AHOGA LA NIÑA!” exclamations affected me negatively. No formal lessons for me, either, even though I grew up in Miami (what’s up with us Cubans? Half the women in my family can’t swim!). Aprendi yo solita en CB Smith Park’s pool. That is to say, I learned how not to drown. I don’t swim with any sort of finesse or speed.But, all said, I love the water now!
someday, as I swim laps, too- a Marti and Lisa swimsuit-cap-goggle picture? I know- “Shut up!” love ya!
I’m almost positive I had a duck just like yours back in Cuba!
Ay Martica you are too funny, I just love your “shut up”, and “but that’s not important right now”. I also went to Varadero as a child (until I was 5yrs.old), but wasn’t fortunate to stay all summer, wow, que rico!!! I learned how to swim at church camp(I was like 10 or 11) in Lake Yale,(close to Florida City). Before that Papi would take me to Miami Beach (around the Eden Roc public beach area). He was an excellent swimmer because as he always bragged his abuelo would take him to the lake near the farm where they grew up and would just throw them in ( basically sink or swim type of deal), but that’s not important right now!!Even though he knew how to swim he never really taught me except to say “Mirame a mi y aprende”, yeah I know, shut up!! :0. Oh well thank God for summer church camp and the wonderful camp counselors who taught me to swim. I’m back in Miami after being gone for 20 years and I have to tell you Miami Beach is like no other beach, except our beautiful Varadero!!
Carinos, 🙂
Also took lessons as an adult when Jess and Andrew were first in lessons many years ago. Private lessons too. I learned a lot! Glad I took them! Up until that time my lessons were a lot like yours…trial and error. Never afraid of the water (beach or pool) but I definitely lacked a certain finesse!
Not one of the women in my Cuban family can swim well… we all pretend…hell i even got scuba certified against EVERYONE’s pleading me not too…and yet I can say I still can barely swim. I can float. I can do my best to do what comes naturally..but no lessons..ever…so I decided to stop the scuba madness after I had kids…and wear a life vest when I snorkel. I do oh so love the water…and wish I could one day take adult lessons…it would be lovely.thanks for sharing your story…good stuff.
I remember being seven or eight and my parents would take us to a Summer camp where they took us once a week to the pool and taught us how to swim. I don’t think I knew before then.When my parents decided that my mom should stay home from work and take care of us, would go to the beach almost everyday in the Summer. We too risk our lives with the huge waves back then. I remember walking out for what seemed to be like a mile or more and then we would be rushed in with a HUGE wave and I would think to myself while under the wave, “Just hold your breath a little longer!” I thought sometimes I wouldn’t make it.
After all that fun in the sun and holding your breath so you would not die, we would go to the grassy area where there we many beautiful treas and we would have our home made sandwich cubanos, empanadas de chorizo croquetas and Coca Cola. That food never tasted sooooo good!!!! 🙂
How did we ever survive our childhoods? I too spent summers at Varadero in a salva vida, clinging to Tia Concha’s neck–“Muchacha, me vas a aogar!”No swimming lessons, no “stop, drop, and roll.” When the stove–el fogon–exploded behind me, I took off running. Mama tackled me and beat the fire off of me. Amazingly enough, I have no scars, thanks to silver sulfadine sold over the counter.
I recall being six years old and walking to the farmacia to buy ether so that Mama could pierce my ears at home as I had my heart set on a pair of pearl and gold earrings. Scarry business now, but not in Cuba circa 1950’s.
At Crandon Park, Tia Concha did attempt to make me independent of her neck, and I learned dog-paddling.
We spent the summers at the delapidated art deco hotels on South Beach, way before it was cool to do so. But my brother and I used inflatable floats as we simmered with coconut oil on our skin and sunlight spray in our hair. Fortunately there always seemed to be an older cousin around to bail me out of a rip tide.
No, I never learned to swim–nor to dance–with finesse…And that has made all the difference…