Twice in our lives, in moments of panic, it dawns on us that human beings belong on dry land. The first such moment comes when we are learning to swim; the second arrives as we watch our children do the same. This year, on the Fourth of July, after 12 swimming lessons with a high-fiving college crawl champion named Michelle, my 3-year-old son wriggled away from me in the middle of a pool and swam to the edge. Then he climbed out and jumped on me and did it again. He had become a swimmer, and I was more worried than ever, because he now had the foolish confidence to believe a creature with no gills should ever feel invulnerable in water.
I have been a solid swimmer almost all my life. As kids, my big brother and I commonly engaged in such contests as Who Can Sit Indian Style Longer at the Bottom of the Deep End. There were other smart games, too, which can be politely described as boxing or impolitely as attempted murder. My mother was always watching out the kitchen window, which was rather like being a UN observer at World War III. Having somehow survived, I now have strong reservations about letting my son do the things my brother and I did in the pool. For this reason, my son is an only child.
But, oh, for the summer days of pirate warfare, a brown-handled plastic knife poised between my teeth as I jumped from the diving board and my brother hurled tennis balls at me! Oh for the moments of dog-paddling with my big sister, who never once tried to kill me, in the cool yellow shade beneath a capsized raft! Oh, for the endless races and splash fights and savage games of water basketball! I have no idea what the water holds for my son, and no idea when I'll feel at ease with whatever it might be.
One day last week, after a morning swim, we went to see the dolphins frolic at the Mirage. These creatures—mammals like us, no gills, just a grinning mug and blowhole on the back—were doing what came naturally, diving deep beneath the water, jumping, playing, breathing, swimming. A dolphin named Duchess came to the edge of the pool and my son said hello and the dolphin clicked and squealed something back. "Can I swim with her?" my son asked. "No," I said, and I thought about how many times, alongside people-pools, I would hear the same question, and how many times I would smile at my son and tell him, "Yes."