Our family spent the weekend standing on the deck of an indoor pool.
It was not a late winter holiday or a fabulous spring-into-spring getaway.
It was a swim meet and it was three days long.
Maybe it was the warm sun periodically taunting rays through random holes in the building’s flawed structure but there were moments I felt as though I was in solitary confinement, but with bathing caps.
Prisoners spend months, sometimes years without access to the sun or the freedom to roam outside.
I spent three days standing behind a starting block with a stop-watch around my neck vowing never to do anything that would put me behind bars because three days was just plenty.
But I didn’t mind spending the time on the deck, deprived of light or the necessities of life, forced to wear a diaper, because I was there for my daughter who was part of the competition.
I guess what I was hoping for was the odd wave or smile or acknowledgement that I was alive and had the thumb twitch from pressing a stopwatch to prove it.
I stood, feet soaked from first dives into the water, pants dripping from end-of-race splashes, wearing goofy white clothes and had a moment of clarity.
I didn’t thank my own parents enough for all they did for me as a kid and this is payback.
I think of all the times my Mom drove me to my various activities. Did I thank her? Without being reminded?
Did I ever say, “Wow, everyone loved the peanut butter cookies you sent for our class party” (in a time when school trustees sent notes home requesting all baked goods must contain at least traces of peanut butter)?
Maybe this is why we have kids.
So when our turn comes to wake up early, bake those gluten-free birthday cupcakes for the class in the wee hours of the morning, batch-cook so we have a fighting chance at having five dinners that resemble something from a food group by the end of the week, we remember all that our parents did for us.
Just before bed after combing each others hair 100 strokes and sitting in a circle looking for nits, Hanna said, “Wait Mom, I have something to tell you.”
No need I thought to myself. I knew what was coming. You’re welcome Hanna.
She leaned toward her nightstand and reached for an empty water glass.
“Can you get me some water?”
I totally mis-read the moment.
