The Swimming Badge

When my son was in first grade, he came home wearing a sticker that said, "I want to be a Cub Scout."

"Pleeeeease?" he said, doing his best to look angelic.

It wasn't a hard sell. His big sisters, then 13 and 14, had been in Girl Scouts since they were in kindergarten. I'd been a leader for almost as long. He'd watched his cousins participate in Cub Scouts, often at our house, for the den that his dad led. Our church sponsors a Cub Scout pack, Scout troop and Venturing crew, but boys can't join until they're 8. That just seemed like far too long to wait to my 6 year old.

The local district was starting a Scoutreach troop at my son's public school, hoping to serve an area and a population of boys that was "underserved." So, we signed up my cherubic son, who was delighted to finally be a Scout "like everybody else."

He excelled. He loved virtually everything that his den did. Even after he turned 8 and joined the church sponsored pack, he stayed in his school pack for another year, doubling up on his opportunities. His shirt became covered in Arrow Points, and he built Pinewood Derby cars and Raingutter Regatta boats with gusto. The ceremonial decorated arrow that he was given when he earned his Arrow of Light still hangs in our living room now, during his senior year of high school.

From the time he was 7 years old, he wanted to become an Eagle Scout.

He loved Scout camp. At first, he could only attend with his dad accompanying him. They usually went with a buddy and his parents, and came home dirty and happy. As he got older, he went with his leaders and other boys – Dad stayed at home.

Some badges, such as those in rifles and archery, can only be earned at camp. Others can be earned anywhere, but are frequently done at camp because it's convenient. Swimming is one of those.

My son's not an expert swimmer. All of my kids love water, whether it's pools, oceans or what have you, but only one is a true water baby. She has always swum like a fish, and could not comprehend what her siblings were thinking when they wanted to wade or build sandcastles. To her, you're not in the water until you're over your head, so what's the point of the shallows?

I love water, but my swimming is very rudimentary. It gets the job done, but I have no real "technique."  It's very rare that I want to be in deep water. I lasted maybe 30 seconds in a two person kayak with my husband this summer before I made him take me back to shore. I have to ease into anything, especially anything concerning deep water, and he doesn't know how to ease in. He shoved off from the shore and we were in deep water, rocking back and forth, within 5 seconds – and then he headed for deeper water, with the kayak riding the waves, tipping side to side. The swaying motion did me in. I had close to a meltdown and had to be taken back to the beach immediately. Elementary school aged children stared at me like I was a science experiment. "It's OK if you fall in," one said to me. She didn't realize that I'm not as worried about drowning as I am of having a heart attack, right there in the boat, in my life vest.

I'm pretty sure it's genetic. My brother doesn't even wade. He literally will not go into knee deep water. He doesn't generally walk down to the shore and let the waves splash his feet. He remembers being like this at 4 and 5 years old, despite never experiencing a water trauma. So do I.

At camp, the areas you can go into are governed by how well you do on the swim test. At Boy Scout camp, the swim test includes jumping into water over your head and a 100 yard swim. In 8 years of camp, my son only got deep water clearance once, and that was totally OK with him.

As he got older, the badges took more work, but he still coasted.

Sometimes we ran into snags, usually having to do with lost records. He had to repeat his efforts on a few badges, which annoys the perfectionist in him. Once, at a merit badge clinic, the counselor promised to mail his Blue Card (the official record you need in order to earn your badge) to him after the clinic closed. It was an Eagle required badge, and it not only was never mailed to us, we couldn't track down the counselor. The council couldn't give us her contact info (privacy issues). So, he had to re-do an entire Eagle required badge. (In all, he completed every requirement 3 times, but the paperwork only went in to the council once.)

Then we hit a few more serious snags. To attain Eagle, you must earn a cycling, hiking or swimming badge. We hike fairly frequently, but it's usually easy, casual hikes that don't count toward the badge. His entire troop worked on the cycling badge together, and he got every requirement except one – a 50 mile bike ride in 8 consecutive hours. He managed 40 miles. He's asthmatic, and after that it was just too hard to breathe. The next year he tried again, and made it to 38 miles. No matter, we thought, he'll get one of the other badges.

Even when his troop completed a 50 mile, 5 day backpacking trip along the Pacific Crest Trail, those hikes did not count toward his hiking badge. (He likes to remind me, too, that because of snow on the trail they had to detour, and only made 48 miles. He brings this up every time I tell someone that he completed a Scout 50 miler; stickler.) Neither did the week long pioneer reenactment trek that he did two summers ago, or our volcano climb in Hawaii this year. "Forget it," he said. He would not consider the hiking badge if none of his experiences counted toward it.

That left swimming – ah, swimming.

Some kids breeze through the swimming badge, even non-athletic kids. My son doesn't consider himself an athlete, but he spent 5 1/2 years in karate lessons, where he competed in monthly tournaments (and won a few awards). He's now in his 6th year of fencing lessons, and he's very good. (His own assessment is that he's "OK" at fencing.) He's just short of scuba certified; he needs two more dives, and we just never get around to scheduling them.

Still, even his scuba training and our frequent snorkeling excursions do not count toward the swimming badge. They're very specific requirements. He'd done more than half of them at camp, but the remaining requirements were kicking his butt. He finally crossed off one of the difficult ones in passing all the swim test requirements at camp, but there were 2 left that were just vexing. He needed to dive headfirst, not jump feet first, into water over his head. He also had to complete a 150 yard swim with certain prescribed strokes. "I can't," he said repeatedly. "100 yards nearly killed me."

He researched and proposed an Eagle project with a community partner, the local wildlife park. It was reviewed and accepted by the council. He would re-landscape a large, two tiered planting bed that had become a hazard, and had actually caused injuries to children. Work started off with a bang, a rousing success with Part 1, digging out and disposing of invasive cactus, and is set to conclude later this month with the completion of Part 2, planting and identifying native plants.

Still no swimming badge.

The only badge besides swimming that he has to complete is one in which he's already completed the requirements, and now simply has to review them with his Merit Badge counselor. It's Citizenship in the World; after two Student Ambassador trips abroad over the last two years, it's almost ridiculously easy for him. Asked to compare the US government to that in other countries, he can draw on such experiences as the time he attended a lecture by a member of Britain's Parliament, specifically designed to teach the similarities and differences between our systems.

Filling out his worksheets recently, he looked up from one requirement – to participate in an "event such as an ethnic festival, concert, or play," and wondered aloud whether he should write down one of his experiences in Europe, his visit to an Aboriginal village in Australia (where he learned mythology, spear throwing and didgeridoo playing), or his role in a play telling the true account of a man who was the director of an orphanage in the Warsaw ghetto during WWII.

("Shut up, you jerk," said his big sister. "I hate you." She adores him, so she says this sort of thing often.)

It was beginning to look as if ONE requirement on ONE badge would keep him from earning his Eagle - his 18th birthday, the deadline to finish, is looming.

Let me practice full disclosure here. I never thought of myself as particularly driven or goal oriented as a kid, and I was slightly puzzled when I was referred to as an overachiever. I just thought of myself as bright and capable. Still, I frequently earned honors that others around me found rather astonishing.

I was one of only two girls my age in my congregation to earn a particular religious award. It took six years to do so. I had joined this church, with my parents' blessing but somewhat to their bafflement, when I was 12. My father thought it was a phase that would pass. My mother drove me to every meeting I wanted to attend (and never bad-mouthed my choice), but she would have been OK with it if I had come home one day and said, "You know, this church thing just isn't for me." When I earned this award, I heard, over and over, that, "It's hard enough when you have parental support!" and, "I can't imagine doing this without your parents' support!" First, I felt like I had support – they let me come to church, didn't they? Plus, I was not impressed if a kid accomplished something because their parents pushed them. Then, I felt, it was the parents who accomplished it, not their child. If something was important to you, you did it. If it wasn't important to you, no amount of "support" from your parents would get it done.

At school, I was usually a straight A student. My parents were happy about that, but they didn't see it as amazing. Others did.

I wasn't even trying to pad a college application or best my classmates, and I still racked up some pretty cool awards – from the National Council of Teachers of English, from participation on the debate team, for my work on the school publications, from service club speech contests, for my work in the school's theater department. Outside of school, I won a weekly competition on the local TV show "Talent Search and You!", a precursor to today's myriad of TV talent shows. I was one of the only actors in a field of singers and musicians, and I still came in second on the Grand Search, where the winners competed against each other.

My father informed me, the week after I graduated from high school, that "all your accomplishments mean nothing." His reasoning – I was "not a well rounded person," because I had never played on a high school sports team. (Way to be supportive, Dad.)

Here's the disclosure part: as much of a go-getter as I may have been, even if I had been working toward a goal for 10 years, if reaching it required me to dive into deep water, there is NO way I would have accomplished it. Zero chance. Pigs will fly and Hades will freeze over first. I am 46 years old, and I have never jumped off of a dock, a diving board, or the edge of a pool. NEVER. I cannot imagine such a thing happening. It goes without saying, then, that I have never done an actual, hands over the head, headfirst dive.

People whose kids have been doing this kind of thing since they were 3 or 4 have been baffled as to why my intelligent, accomplished, healthy and physically fit 17 year old son could not seem to handle these swimming tasks. When I said, "I wouldn't have been able to," I could see some of them mentally rolling their eyes. They seemed to think, "Yes, but you're fat," "Just get over it and do it," or "You've caused your son to fear the water." I really didn't want to discuss it. My kid has jumped off of a boat and swum to the bottom of Lake Tahoe as part of the required deep water dives in scuba training. He does not share my fear of water; he may lack skills and experience, but that's different.

He went to the pool with his merit badge counselor last spring, did a painful belly flop while attempting a dive, and passed on continuing the session. "Have him spend a lot of time in water, until he's really comfortable, before we try this again," the counselor said.

We visited our doctor's office several times, consulting with the physician's assistant. Tests showed that, while his asthma was a factor, it wasn't bad enough to qualify him for a medical exemption, which would have enabled him to complete an alternate badge, such as archery or sailing. His hypoglycemia, while again a possible factor (especially with fatigue) is mild.

 He tried the PA's suggestion to use his inhaler just before he swam, but he still couldn't make 150 yards. 75 was about the limit.

I can't stand to hear my child say "I can't" (even though I knew that I probably could but never would.) I didn't want to see him come this far to give up.

Partly by design, party by chance, he spent most of the summer in the water. A couple of times a week, he'd go with his sister to a friend's apartment and swim in the complex's pool. Then he went on the second of his Student Ambassador trips, where he spent time in hotel pools, swimming holes under waterfalls and in the Pacific Ocean at the Great Barrier Reef. (Yeah, it's a tough life, but somebody has to live it.)

When he came home, the physician's assistant had another suggestion. "Google 'carb loading for a marathon.' Feed him that way, then have him use the inhaler. Let's see if that does it."

Mondays my middle daughter is off work, so we usually do something fun. The next Monday, we carb loaded my son, and I took a list of the undone requirements with us to the pool.

He tackled the 150 yard swim first. I offered to swim next to him – I'd looked up the strokes online, and I was prepared to swim the entire thing in the lane next to him, despite the fact that the lanes go all the way across the pool, and therefore through the deep end. "I don't need anyone to swim with me," he said, in a voice that indicated that the suggestion was on a par with having him wear water wings or an embarrassing, badly hand knit holiday sweater. So much for "parental support." Still, because I'm the mom, and I was stoked, I swam or walked next to him when he was in the shallow end, telling him when he had to switch strokes (there were 5 required). He breezed through it like it was nothing. When he finished, he was a bit winded, but remarkably calm about the whole thing. I was practically bouncing up and down.

After resting for just a few minutes, he was ready to tackle the diving. This was his sister's territory. She demonstrated. He was nervous, but he mimicked his sister, and in he went, like he'd been diving for years. He came up and did a second one just for good measure. Then, he dove down to retrieve an object from the bottom of the pool (another requirement), and very matter-of-factly went off to enjoy the rest of our pool time.

I expected the heavens to open and angels to sing; no such thing happened. The kids played, and mocked me for staying behind the rope in the shallow end.

He scheduled the last requirement – jump fully clothed into water over your head and tread water while you demonstrate how to use your clothes for emergency flotation – for the following week at the apartment pool. His counselor signed off on the badge, and soon we had a Blue Card in our hands. I treated it like gold.

The finish line is in sight now.

Of course, it's about the journey as much as it is about the destination.

Renovation

Eighteen years ago, we bought a big, sprawling fixer upper house on a quiet street. It had six bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a family room. I hoped that, since most of the living would go on in the family room, the living room would always be company ready. HA HA HA HA! (Never happened.) It needed everything - paint, carpet, new windows, you name it.

Here's what it looked like at the beginning of this summer:

The original owner had added on to a house that was originally four bedrooms and two bathrooms, adding two more bedrooms, a bathroom and a family room. He was a building inspector who wrote his own permits and signed his own inspections; nothing in the addition was up to current building codes. The plumbing runs on the outside of the walls (as did the Romex cable for the bedroom light fixtures). The bedroom hallway has a little 1 1/2 inch step between the original house and the addition - just enough to be annoying. One bedroom no longer had a window, since the addition was added onto the wall where the original one had been. The studs are 24 inches apart. The joists run the opposite direction from those in the original half, so no ducting (for instance, for a furnace) can run from one half of the house to the other. The family room is paneled in plywood, with no drywall underneath, and the only source of heat was a wood stove. (The upstairs master bedroom also had a stove for heat.) The addition went 10 to 12 inches over the kitchen window and an upstairs bedroom window, so looking out of those windows, you looked at the wood used to construct the addition. There was just enough space - about half an inch - between the wood and the glass, so that it was constantly full of whatever blew in: grass, feathers, dust, just general crud. In the family room, the two large "windows" were made of sliding glass door panels, turned sideways and glued into the wall.

There's more, but you get the idea.

We bought it from the original owner's son and his wife. The wife hated the house. She actually tried fairly hard to talk us out of it. "What will you do about this?" she asked, dragging us through the house. "And this?" Pointing to the overhang over the windows, she demanded to know how I'd deal with it. I shrugged. "Right now," I said, "I'll hang curtains. Later, we'll replace the windows." All of our paperwork on the sale said "AS IS" in capital letters.

We didn't take any photos of that. We should have, but we hated it so much that we really didn't want to immortalize it.

"How long do you think it will take to fix all this?" people asked. "Twenty years or so," we'd say. They'd laugh, thinking we were kidding. We weren't.

We're fast approaching twenty years. We're not done yet, but oh, the progress.

The first thing we did was redo the children's rooms. We painted, made new curtains, and ripped out the carpet to replace it with vinyl. I hate carpet. I will happily sweep, daily, if needed, but I can't stand vacuuming. Plus, carpets get dirty far too easily. They're not recommended for asthmatics or people with allergies, and that's me and roughly half of the rest of my family. People thought we were crazy, but over the years those floors have seen diaper accidents, vomit, broken fish tanks and other incredible messes, and they all cleaned up with damp paper towels. On carpet, it would have been a total nightmare.

We started replacing the windows next, sometimes one or two at a time, once in a batch of 4. The old, single pane windows were so awful that the curtains blew in the wind even when the windows were closed. With the new ones, the house was warmer, less drafty and prettier. We replaced the front door and one of the sliding glass doors. We ripped out more carpet, replacing it with parquet and vinyl. We painted indoors, but not outdoors. We wanted to replace the siding, so why paint? When we replaced and resized the windows with the overhang, I did the happy dance. I was giddy for months. Frankly, I'm still giddy when I think about it. We replaced the sliding glass door panels glued into the walls with actual windows, and I was beyond giddy. They open! They close! They're amazing!

We installed a wall heater in the family room.

We replaced the roof, which was so bad that it had begun to leak. I was so delighted with my new roof, especially when it rained or snowed.

We had a small deck off of our bedroom, with stairs going down to the yard. It was made, nearly as I can tell, with untreated lumber, because the decay rate was tremendous. Plus, it grew moss - moss! In the desert! The last time anyone walked on it, years ago, their foot went straight through the wood. We barred anyone from even thinking of walking on it.

We had holes in our siding and our roof to accommodate the chimneys from the wood stoves (which we had to tear out, as they're now illegal in our county). We had flaking paint, peeling wood, birds nesting in the rafters... it was a mess.

One of the many incompatibilities between myself and my husband is in our decision making processes. For me, the only reason to contemplate any decision is to make it and act on it, preferably quickly. Why even consider something if you're not going to DO anything? For my husband, the entire point of a decision is to consider all the possibilities. He loves considering the possibilities, often for years (and years). Making and acting on a decision actually makes him quite stressed out. He worries that: 1. any decision might be the wrong one, and 2. once you act on something, you have "cut off all the possibilities." When we're done with something, I am always relieved and delighted. He always feels at least a bit let down.

Imagine trying to balance this dynamic while making home repair and remodel decisions. He cannot imagine why I spend all of my time trying to eliminate possibilities. I cannot imagine why he can't just DO something and stop endlessly discussing it with no action in sight. As long as a project remains undone, in progress or even in total chaos, he is soothed, knowing that he could, in theory, do any one of hundreds of things. As long as a project remains undone, in progress or in chaos, my anxiety level goes up and up.

We ran into this problem while making decisions about the outside of the house. We weighed doing things ourselves vs. hiring pros, vinyl siding vs. hardboard siding vs. stucco, chose contractors that went out of business, turned down outrageous bids, weighed varying options for financing such a large purchase... it took years. YEARS. And years.

I mean, come on. Does that look even habitable to you?

Finally, decisions were made, contractors hired, and we got our last window and two doors replaced, the deck rebuilt, and stucco put on the house. It was not a moment too soon, in my opinion.

(Yeah, that's the plywood. Eventually, it will be replaced. Right now, there are bigger fish to fry.)

It looks gorgeous. Our neighbors have all complimented us. "What are you doing to your guys's house?" one 20-something neighbor wanted to know. "Are you moving?"

"No," I said. "We just got tired of looking at it."

I cannot describe how delighted I am with the results.

We still have to paint our front door and garage door, but that's small potatoes.

And my deck! Look at my deck!

After having the yard covered in scaffolding for most of the summer, I'm now in serious outdoor improvement mode. By the time winter hits, the yard should look pretty amazing, too. Here's our new fire pit, and the new chairs my husband made. Yes, marshmallows have been roasted.

For 14 years, this fountain has had no, well, fountain attachment. The original one, a spitting fish, mysteriously walked out of our front yard. This little frog recently replaced him. I'm happy every time I walk out the door.

And just for good measure, here's a shot of my iris, shot this spring, and my daylilies, which are recovering from the trampling the stucco guys gave them.



Yes, indeed - life is good.