It’s such a small thing, but I notice it. I’ve been trained from a young age to be self-conscious about it.
I look out into the pool. She is conquering her fears before my eyes, and yet this is what pops into my mind as something needing my immediate attention. Intervention.
Her coach teaches her to blow bubbles. She was so hesitant at first. Over the past few weeks, she has kept trying. Now, she goes all the way under the water and comes out with a smile on her face. I am so proud of her. I remember what it was like when I was her age learning to swim. I remember the feeling of conquering my fears.
It’s just part of swimming, the kicking, the bobbing up and down. Used to happen to me too. It’s clearly not something that is uncomfortable to her. But her suit is bunched into a wedgie and part of her backside is visible.
The thought is immediate, instinctive. I need to get up and tell her to make sure her suit covers her bottom. But I don’t move.
My own butt stays planted to the uncomfortable bleachers. (Seriously, who invented this style of seating?) What do I hope to instill in her by saying such a thing to her at such a time? Modesty, my brain answers. She should learn to be modest. But this doesn’t feel like the way. And I go with my gut.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to inBox Whine to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.