I'll admit to a few phobias in my life. The two biggest are in reality the same. Suffocation and water. When I was in seventh grade a bunch of kids were playing with the gymnastic mats--those really big fat ones that fold in half--before gym class. And we were sandwiching each other in the middle of them. I jumped in and when they folded it over, my arms were pinned to my sides and my face was straight down into the mat, and all the kids jumped on top of it. It probably didn't last more than 10 seconds, but I couldn't take a breath and it was sheer terror. I can summon it now in an instant.
I'm a pretty good swimmer--good enough that I did the incredibly stupid stunt of swimming across a lake in Maine one summer, a trip that took at least 1/2 hour each way. The universe only reveals your stupidity halfway across, of course, when your arms are burning and you're cursing yourself for trying to be tough. And that's on the first leg. Well, that same summer in college a bunch of us went to the same lake at night, and jumped off rocks and generally goofed around and laughed a lot. And I jumped off the rocks into the water and it was just pitch black, and out of nowhere I developed an incurable and quite powerful case of hydrophobia. I just freaked (internally, thank god...there was a really hot girl there). I couldn't get out fast enough. Something about not seeing what I was swimming in.
Fast forward to the Y, 2008, Rileyman in the pool for the swim class he 'can't stand' but actually loves. I came into the pool area toward the end to watch. The teacher turned her back to Riley at the same time he pushed off from the side and there he was, stuck directly behind her, his little head going underwater just as she blocked him from my view. I shouted to her, "turn around!" but she did not hear. Then she moved, and there he was, treading water with the grace of a drowned rat, but still breathing.
I was amazed.
A minute later he saw me and started shouting, "Watch, Dad!" He got out, his too-big red swimsuit nearly to his ankles, stood by the side and jumped in. Then the little bugger swam the entire way across the pool, which was probably about 15 feet wide where he was. It took a painfully long time, his little arms paddling just under the water, and I kept waiting for his teacher to grab him, but he never stopped, and the look on his face when he made it across was the same look I remember on my own face as I dragged myself out of that lake 20 years ago...triumphant, exhausted, and a bit elated to still be alive (he had the option of whether to go back the other way, though...I didn't, so I still had a surging dose of panic to deal with).
I told him how proud I was of him. I truly was. That's a huge step for a kid who doesn't like to take instruction from others, and who treats the water as if it might double-cross him at any moment. He was talking a mile a minute. Then blurted out, "I just wanted you to be proud of me."
'Scuse me. I have something stuck in my eye. Must be an eyelash. I'm sure that's it.