pushes and hand holding

Last week as a farewell to summer treat I took my kids to the Black Mountain Recreation Center for a final swim before school starts. We met Wyatt's and Waylan's friends from school at the pool just to add to the joy. Just as I had sun blocked all but my youngest two kids the fire alarm went off, and they had to evacuate the pool area. This turned into 40 min. of standing on the blacktop of the parking lot listening to whinny kids ask, "When can we go back and swim?" Truthfully, I would have just left after 20 min. of waiting (that is usually where my threshold of patience breaks), but we had left all of our beach towels saving our shady spot back inside. On the up side my four older kids had been in the water and were at least wet. This helped to calm the baking aspect of the ordeal for them; however my babies and I were not so lucky.

When the "all clear" was given and we were allowed back in the water my boys' friends decided they wanted to try the water slide. They had just finished swimming lessons the week before and were feeling brave. I encouraged my boys to go with them and their mom while I watched my two little ones and their little brother. Waylan went up the stairs stood in line with them until he was half way there and then came back down. He came and found me and said he was too scared but would do it if I went with him. When my friend came back I walked Waylan and Wyatt with Flint on my hip, over to the slide area. (As a side note the friend Waylan's age had to be pulled out by the life guard. He got scared and sunk to the bottom). I explained that I would stand on the side of the pool where the slide emptied into the water and would make sure if there was any problem that the life guard would get them or I would. They needed me to promise that they would be safe and then off they went. Up the first flight of stairs, then the second, and then stand and wait in line. They moved up a little closer and then when they were next in line Wyatt came running down followed by Waylan. When they came back I gave another explanation of how they just needed to sit down (or lie down), drop into the water, and swim to the edge. It was simple! After 30 min. of watching my boys gather courage, wait in line until their turn and then turn and run, my patience was more than spent. As they came hurrying down the steps the last time, I shook my head and said, "I'm hot. I'm done waiting. Maybe next summer!" By this time I had spent way more time outside of the water than in the water, and it was over 110 outside. I felt a little sad as I walked away, but I justified my decision telling myself "I have already given them 3o min. and they still haven't done it." Just as Flint and I settled in the water I had two sobbing boys by my side, "I want to do it. I"m just scared. If you will come down with me I can do it." I really didn't want to get my hair wet (I had more things to do that day and didn't want to worry about redoing my hair). The other deterrent that kept me from going down with them in the first place is Flint doesn't like other people. I didn't want to have to ask someone to hold my screaming baby while I went down the slide, but looking at my two boys who wanted so badly to conquer this fear I asked another friend, who didn't have small children, to hold my screaming baby while I took them down the slide. Up the first flight, onto the second, we climbed up the stairs as the line moved forward. I watched Wyatt get more and more squirrely. I was afraid he would bolt at any second. Standing in line I began to wonder how I could guarantee that both of them would go down after all this effort. The original plan was that I would go first and swim slowly over to the side so I would still be in the water if they hurried down right after me. Waylan was perfectly comfortable with the plan, but Wyatt had that deer in the headlights look. He wasn't committing to anything. I knew that once I went down, more than likely he was going to sprint down the stairs. So I revised my plan just as the person in line ahead of us went down. I grabbed Wyatt set him down on the slide and said, "I'll come right after you!", and gave a little push. I think he was too shocked and scared to scream or say a word. I watched silently until the life guard gave me the signal that I could follow. I was hoping that he wouldn't be mad. I already started forming my "I did it for your own good" speech as I turned and reminded Waylan to "hurry" down after me. As I hit the water, I looked quickly to see where Wyatt went. I couldn't see him, but I was relieved to see the life guard dry, sitting casually in his chair. This was my signal that he must be o.k., and I knew Waylan would be coming any second so I turned to watch him come down. Like a champ he hit the water, swam to the side and came up with that Michael Phelps "I did it" grin. I was so proud of him. As we got out of the water I looked up to see Wyatt already standing in line, ready to go down again. Waylan ran up to join him, and I didn't hear from either of them until I went to get them to leave. As we walked back to our shady spot to gather our things, Wyatt exultantly says to Waylan, "I don't know why we were lolly gagging. We could have been going down the slide the whole time!"

I have thought about experiences like this in my own life. Fear is something that creeps into my life on a regular basis, usually it is lurking just before the next bend in the road of life. So many times I have felt that paralyzing, hyperventilating feeling. I also know far to well that defeated "I didn't conquer my fear" feeling. Looking at my boys pleading by my side to take them up to the slide tugged so strongly at my heart strings because I knew how they would be feeling later that day. . . watching t.v. on the couch, jumping on the trampoline, lying in bed ready for sleep to overtake them. . . that nagging sick feeling of failure that eats at you, starting at your stomach until it makes its way to your head. The pressure builds until you begin to fear that your head might actually explode. Usually the only cure is a second attempt at overcoming that fear or enough passage of time that the pain diminishes to a small ache in the bottom of your stomach and a minor pounding in your head. I knew that the pool would be closing for the summer, and I wouldn't be back until sometime next summer. Nine months is a long time to wait for a second attempt in the life of a six and seven year old boy, but not nearly long enough to ease the affects of giving into fear. This was the motivation behind me holding Waylan's hand, encouraging him down the slide, and also for pushing Wyatt down the slide.

I stop to think about some of the "pushes" and "hand holding" that I have had in my life: my first ride down the slide at a motel in St. George when I was seven, my dad gripping my hand around the trigger of his pistol as I shot a gun for the first time, when I was eight, amid screams and cries of protest, my high school track coach, Mr. Hardy, signing me up to run the mile (I wanted to run the sprints because I knew I could win at them. I wasn't sure that I could win at a longer distance), repelling off a cliff, a friend encouraging me to run a marathon when I was 21--he really believed I could do it, another friend training for four months with me and running by my side all 26.2 miles, pushes to go to college, encouragement to serve a mission, hand holding during childbirth, these are just a few of the things that come to mind as I contemplate the hard things that have taken courage for me to conquer.

I don't think I ever intentionally mean to leave off my praise of gratitude for those who hold my hand or push me through my fears. Today I've had an epiphany: the joy in the moment of any accomplishment shines so brightly that often a shadow is cast on those who helped make it happen. Sometimes it takes time and distance to truly see the big picture. I feel such a deep sense of gratitude for my mom, dad, sisters, brothers, husband, children, friends, teachers, and strangers in my life who have given me the pushes and hand holding that was necessary to make it to where I am and who I am. This 17th century quote comes to mind as I sit here and type,"No man is an island, entire of itself ; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main"(John Donne- I had to do a research paper on him my freshman year of college). Funny how you think you understand something, a quote, a truth, a thought only to rediscover it on another level at another time.

I'm sure my boys remember Thursday afternoon at the pool only as the day, the moment, they found the courage to go down the big slide. I am o.k. with that. Maybe like me, someday, somewhere, they will look back only to realize that all that they accomplished and all that they will accomplish might be the result of a helping hand!