I am not from a family of swimmers...

I am not from a family of swimmers.

My heritage is to blame.

My mother, and father, dec. hail from Belfast, Northern Ireland.

My father taught himself to swim, breaststroke, at the local swimming pool during World War II.  My mum remains apprehensive around water.

My paternal grandfather was an electrician at the famous shipyards Harland and Wolff.  The RMS Titanic was built there, completed in 1912.

No wonder I struggled to float as a child.

Like many Northern Tasmanian children, I was sent to Glen Dhu Swimming Pool under the tutelage of the legendary Mr (Grant) Garwood, dec.

I struggled, unable to lift my head above water and petrified of being out of my depth.  Upon realising I was so far behind, I also felt rather embarrassed.

Slowly, and with access to the Basin and Riverside pools, I developed the most basic water confidence.  However, my uncertainly was reinforced each time we visited, particularly as my brother, now a strong swimmer, was already representing our school.

And then the planets aligned.

Ironically, my mum, the non-swimmer, started seasonal work at Windmill Hill Pool.  She was the kind cashier with the broad Northern Irish accent who accepted your money, found your towel and told your parents where you were hiding.

I absorbed the technical and financial aspects of running a pool including the significant resources required to keep a swimming centre in Launceston open, ensuring a service is delivered to the region rather than substantial money made. 

And most importantly, I was able to study the technique of accomplished lap swimmers.  No matter their shape, size or age they dispersed water with ease, gliding in a manner which I found both unimaginable and unachievable.

At this point, although my swimming improved significantly, I remained a brick - just with added strength.

And then the planets aligned for a second time.  I met Katie.  Of course, I told her proudly that my mum worked at Windmill Hill Pool and I enjoyed swimming laps.

Unbeknownst to me my now-wife is an extremely competent swimmer and I quickly learned that having your feet slapped by an athlete severely dents your pride.

To prove my worth, restore my dignity and win a heart, I trained five days per week rain, hail or shine for the entire next season, took technique lessons and eventually I was just about able to hold my own over a 1500 metre set.

I was fortunate to learn a new skill in my 20s.  And now as I watch children swim, confident in the pool and surf, churning out laps and enjoying every moment without hesitation nor worry nor the embarrassment I experienced, I reflect on how important it is that they develop proficiency far earlier than I did.

Learning a new skill develops confidence and happiness in places we could never have imagined as children. 

Under water in the pool or ocean is pure bliss.  All I can think about is the sound of submersion, not life’s worries, uneven depths, waves or even sharks. 

I once submerged myself under water to escape my mother’s accent as she broadcast across Launceston that the pool would be closing in 10 minutes. 

I now do it because it is the most peaceful place I know.