Shorts in the Wintertime

At 6 a.m. on approximately 10 Saturdays a year while many people are still tucked cozily in their beds, I drag my children out of bed and into their swimsuits, sweatshirts, and towel pants and off to an early morning swim meet.

Several years ago, a friend signed her daughter up for the swim team and shared that her Saturdays in June and July were booked due to swim meets lasting from the early morning to early afternoon. I thought she was crazy. Why would she give up her Saturday morning for a swim meet, I wondered?

Fast forward five years and I found myself with a six-year-old who loved the water and seemed to have a natural ability for swimming. Combined with the encouragement of a friend who was a swim coach and other friends whose children were on the swim team, I decided that Julia would try summer swim. And, if we had to be at practice every summer morning, her nine-year-old brother might as well do it, too.

As with most new activities, my kids weren’t star swimmers, but they loved summer swim team. They already had several friends on the team, but they soon made more friends and enjoyed the fun summer practices and meets. What kid doesn’t like hanging out with his or her friends on a Saturday morning, eating candy, playing video games, and swimming competitively for a total of five minutes?

Although I was not a competitive swimmer, some of my high school friends were on the swim team, and it seemed like their families were a tight bunch. But I never gave it much thought until my children started swimming.

It makes sense. You spend almost every Saturday morning for four months of the year with the same people, and you’re going to form friendships. Not to mention that swimming parents are some of the nicest parents I’ve met. I have witnessed very little competition among parents, perhaps because it is an individual sport, and the swimmers’ times determine what heat they’re in. In what other sport do the slowest athletes get the loudest cheers?

Years later, I can see why my swimmer friends’ parents still hang out together, even though their children have been out of school for almost 25 years.

Sadly, Mitchell informed me that this will be his last year of winter swim. He is more focused on soccer and baseball and with today’s year-round sports mentality, he has become too busy.

Plus, winter swim has been tougher for my kids than summer. For one, it is a long season – lasting from September to February. Second, practices are held at the Elizabethtown College pool, which is kept at a cold temperature. It is not an easy feat to persuade Julia to go to the chilly pool for practice in the middle of winter. Finally, swimming is an intense sport that takes a lot of drive. Mitchell counted the number of laps Julia had to swim in one of her recent practices, and it totaled 33. That same day, Mitchell swam 74 laps in practice.

I am in awe of these kids’ ability and endurance.

Overall I think I do a decent job of not living vicariously through my children, but I will miss the swim team if Julia quits. Chatting with the parents, complaining about the excessive heat of the natatorium (hence the need to wear shorts), volunteering as a timer, and cheering on the swimmers has created a camaraderie that has me selfishly hoping she continues for a few more years. After all, what else would we do at 6 on a Saturday morning?

cGarber J 7 Dive great facePhoto by James McKenzie

A Life Well Lived

When I was pregnant with my firstborn, a friend of my mom’s asked her if she was going to be “one of those crazy grandparents,” who couldn’t stop gushing over her grandchildren.

“No,” my mom said. “I won’t be one of THOSE grandparents.”

Ah, but she was wrong. When Mitchell was born in 2004 my parents lived in Indiana, but my mom came and spent the summer with us.

For the first time in my life, her attention was focused on a child that wasn’t me. Now I know what it feels like to have a sibling, I thought! But this was my child, and my mom was devoted to him.

And thus, the unique grandparent/grandchild relationship between my parents and children began. It only intensified (in a good way) when my parents retired and moved here five years later.

In a sense, it’s completely different from the relationship I had with my grandparents, in that they always lived 100-1000 miles away. But in another sense, it’s not so different, in that my grandparents were devoted to my cousins and me.

My dad’s dad (Grandpa McKenzie) was particularly special to us. To all who knew him, this man was known for his incredible patience and gentleness. He was born in Canada in 1918 and immigrated to the U.S. as a toddler. His father was Scottish and his mother Canadian.  He graduated from Ohio State at a time when it wasn’t so common to attend college. He was drafted into the U.S. Army and fought in Germany during World War II. He worked as an industrial engineer for years and sent three children to college in the 1960s and 70s.

By the time I was born in 1975, my grandpa had already defied death several times. In addition to putting his life on the line in the war, he also had two heart attacks in his late 40s and early 50s.

What I remember him for is the endless time he spent with me.  One of my earliest memories of him includes riding in the backseat of a car driving to Florida while he read old Christmas cards to me and let me comb his greasy gray hair over and over with his small black pocket comb.

He and my grandma retired to Florida when I was seven. My family stayed in the Midwest, but the distance didn’t matter. We traveled to Florida at least once a year, and they visited us. In fourth grade, my parents put me on my first plane ride alone to spend my spring break with them.

As I grew up, my grandparents continued to show up for every milestone in my life no matter how far away they were.  They were there for my high school tennis matches, prom, and high school and college graduations.

In 1996, my grandpa was diagnosed with kidney and colon cancer. He lived through it, long enough to see me and three more of my cousins get married and meet four great-grandchildren.

In 2006, the renal cancer that hit him in the 90s spread to his lungs. Ever the optimist, he entered a clinical trial.  The trial gave him a few more years of life until he started heading downhill again. In early 2008, both he and my grandma were admitted into Hospice.  She passed away in January.

Greg and I flew to Indiana for the funeral, knowing that it would probably be the last time we would see him. The funeral and family gathering were bittersweet as we remembered my grandma and said our goodbyes. Within the next three weeks, three of my cousins and I decided to travel one more time to see our grandpa before he passed. Of the four of us, my visit was last.

A few days before we were scheduled to arrive, my aunt told my grandpa, who was drifting in and out of consciousness, that Mitchell and I were coming that weekend.

“Well, I need to make it until then,” he said.

And he did. He was almost unconscious when we arrived, but when I held his hand and told him we were there, his eyes opened and he looked my way. A few hours later, surrounded by his family, he died.

Almost eight years have passed since then, but his legacy is still with us. I see his endless patience and dedication in my dad, who spends hours with my kids and makes it a priority to attend their sporting events. I see it in my aunt, uncle, and cousins.

Unlike him, I do not have endless patience, and I’m not always so laid back. But I think the attribute I admired the most about him was that he appreciated every day and moment with those he loved. Even during the years when he was sick, he never stopped loving life. I am only hopeful I can do the same.

Anne and Grandpa McKenzie0001

My grandpa, cousin, and I in 1983.