An Open Letter To The Very Nice Young Man Who Teaches Swimming Lessons Next To My Aqua-Zumba Class

***Note to the Reader: The photos used in this swimming-pool/swim-lesson oriented post have been harvested from the Internet because 1)Cameras often develop issues after spending time in a splash-heavy environment and 2)My camera and I don't want to end up being discussed by Nancy Grace and her panel of "experts" on HLN.***

Dear Very Nice Young Man who teaches swimming lessons to a group of what appear to be nine-year-old boys in the part of the pool that is immediately adjacent to the part of the pool where my Aqua-Zumba class meets,

I would like to start out by congratulating you on a successful first week of swimming lessons with this particular group of Stetsons and Harleys (For those of you who don't spend much time at our local pool, it  appears that every boy in every swimming class, along with a significant number of the teachers, are all named either Stetson or Harley. FYI, the girls are all named Jacobi).  I believe that your lessons have qualified as "successful" for two main reasons.

First, only a minimum of nervous sobbing could be heard from your part of the deep-end (Truth be told, much more sobbing was taking place in the Aqua-Zumba section... especially during the body-roll part in that third song. That can be sooooooo upsetting).

Second, the only paramedics present were there to cheer on their own kids in the class and not to resuscitate anyone. And while we are on this particular topic I would like to point out that, while some of the older ladies in Aqua-Zumba find the presence of the ambulance in the pool parking lot to be a comforting thing, I personally have found it to be somewhat unsettling. Foreboding, even. But moving on...

Our actual town swimming pool where I have spent my summer mornings for the last three and a half years.

So, nice work on the limited crying and total lack of drownings. But since I have been spending a good amount of time kicking and splashing and (insert sound of sobbing here) body-rolling in close proximity to your Harleys and Stetsons, I couldn't help but notice that you have having a difficult time getting the boys to learn different swim strokes.

A visual approximation of the Aqua-Zumba class that I started attending this month with my friend and visiting teacher, Stephanie. I am still waiting for you to join us, Valerie and Elizabeth!)

Now, I am in no way claiming to be an expert in the teaching of swimming, but as a sister of four brothers and the aunt of five nephews, I do know a little bit about apparently-nine-year-old-boys.

I think your problem is the way you are presenting the choice of strokes to your students.

I know that you are getting frustrated with their insistence on choosing to practice the backstroke over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

But really, what do you expect them to choose when presented with the other two options  that you give them along with the backstroke: the butterfly and the breaststroke.

A visual approximation of Harley and/or Stetson.

Of course they are going to say, "Backstroke!" every time.

What self-respecting nine-year-old boy is going to request, in front of his peers, to learn the butterfly? These are boys named Harley and Stetson. Some of them have been driving tractors  and hay trucks for two years. Most own some sort of firearm and have in fact used said firearm to shoot and kill several furry and/or feathered critters. Do you really think one of them is going to raise his hand and say, "Please, Mr. Swim Instructor sir, I implore you to tutor us in the ways of the graceful butterfly stroke," ?

Sorry guy, it is never going to happen.

You can always tell them that is what they are going to learn, and they will do it. But if you give it to them as a choice along side the backstroke, they will chose the backstroke every time.

If you want them to chose that particular stoke, I suggest renaming it. Try something like, The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death.

"Good morning Stetson, Stetson, Harley, Harley, and Harley. Today you can pick between practicing the backstroke or The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death. Which shall it be?"

I think you know what the answer.

You have the same type of problem with the other choice that you offer: the breast stroke.

I can pretty much guarantee you that the phrase "breast stroke" is never going to be uttered by any of those nine-year-old boys. At least, not while they are in a public area where their older brothers, their parents, a few off-duty paramedics, and 18 little girls named Jacobi could possibly hear them.


"Stetson! Did you hear what the swimming teacher just said? Hurry! Somebody chose 'backstroke' before he says it again and I have to drown myself in embarrassment!"


One or two of them might get up the courage to whisper it at day camp when their den leader is out of earshot being treated for heat exhaustion, but then it will be out of a desire to get a bigger laugh than the kid who told the snot joke and not for educational purposes.

Of course, once those same boys hit the 8th grade, you won't be able to stop them from saying it. A creative few may even use that phrase as their chosen name for their new hunting dogs, but then they will no longer be your problem.

They will be my problem.

I can see the haiku and shape poems now...

So in closing, I would like to pass on this piece of advice: If you are going to give a group of nine-year-old boys a choice between practicing the backstroke, the butterfly, and the breaststroke, and you DON'T want them to chose the backstroke every single time, RENAME THE OTHER STROKES.

Seriously. These are the same kids who routinely put their swim trunks on backwards. I don't think they are going to figure out that you pulled a name switch-a-roo on them.

Sincerely,
Miss H