Ransom had his swim championships last weekend. He swam well, and I remembered that I am not a good bleacher parent, although I am getting better. I have the talk with myself before we arrive. I will not yell at the edge of the pool like a raving looney or flap my arms during the butterfly length, urging him forward with my motherly wings. I forget how competitive I am until my kids go out for swim or soccer or some other sport. I relegated myself to the car during peewee soccer games several years ago, as I found myself yelling “Be AGGRESSIVE!” at three-year-olds plucking grass as the ball rolled past them.

They have parent meetings for parents like me now. The instructors remind us that it is all about the kids, to only be encouraging, and to keep the atmosphere fun. Fun my fanny. My sixty-four-pound eleven-year-old hits the water against one-hundred-fifty pound twelve-year-olds with gorilla-arms and beards. I sit on my hands and sweat trying to have fun.

First, he swam the 100 meter individual medley, which means 25 meters each—butterfly, breaststroke, backstroke, and freestyle.  The starting buzzer went off, and I sat stick straight in the bleachers, rocking myself, muttering under my breath. As he made the turn and pulled ahead, I involuntarily cried out, “Go, Ransom!” Six parents next to me chimed in…”Is that little one in lane 4 yours? GO!” They started hooting, and we all lost it for the last 75 meters as he pulsed through the breaststroke, backstroke, and finally the freestyle. He shaved ten seconds off his best time, coming in second. I was in tears. The other parents slapped me on the back, congratulating me like I had everything to do with it, and I wiped my eyes as I said, “That’s MY boy…he took off ten seconds! Ten seconds!”

Now we’re having fun.

He doesn’t always beat his time. He isn’t always a good sport, and neither am I. We’re both in the crucible of character-building though, maybe especially when we fail. I didn’t hurt any other children or adults with my words or actions, and I was encouraging. Win-win. Now I need to go lie down. Thank goodness swim season is done.  My dancers don’t compete, and Jet flips through gymnastics, but I mostly keep my eyes closed through that.