Dantrums

There is no telling exactly how or when a bad mood steals over you. For example, I can't even begin to tell you why, at approximately 4:50 pm, I morphed into a snarling asshole who hates children. I was in the pool teaching five kids in level III, explaining the mechanics of elementary backstroke. Some of the kids weren't doing the stroke properly, which happens all the time. No big deal. I demonstated the stroke and asked them to try again. No improvement. Again, no big deal. Kids can take months to get a stroke down, and what do I care anyway if some kid's elementary backstroke isn't perfect? On a normal day, I don't. And yet today, Wednesday December 6th, at approximately 4:50 pm, I cared an awful lot. My mood suddenly turned; I was furious that they hadn't corrected any of their mistakes--- hadn't I explained and demonstrated perfectly? Hadn't we done this stroke last week? Isn't it called the elementary backstroke? GAH!!!!! I looked down at them and shouted, "No! No! No! All wrong!"

A minute before this outburst, a boy named Doron had asked me if he could go to the bathroom. I said it was fine. He returned seconds later, impossibly fast really, and I wondered for a second if maybe the kid had peed somewhere on the pool deck. Then he told me he had to go ask his mom something. Could he? I said it was fine. When I looked over the kid was draped in a towel. His mom walked up to me and asked me what happened. I said nothing had happened. She said he thought the lesson was too hard. Confused, I replied we'd only done kicking and a minute of backstroke. "Well, he doesn't want to get back in the water." I hadn't been grumpy with him, or anyone, yet. What the hell was this little weiner's problem? On a normal day I might've gone over to the kid, tried to soothe whatever his fears were and coax him back into the water. Not today though. Fine, I thought. Forget this little piece of shit.

I knew I was losing it, so we moved onto diving. Another skill we'd practiced last week. And somehow they'd forgotten everything. Worse, the kids who were new to the class dove perfectly, and the kids I'd been working with for months could do nothing. One kid even performed a pencil jump, a jump that is in every way not a dive, then surfaced and asked me, "Was that good?" I stared straight down at this girl--- a sweet, round seven-year old girl named Talia, who was looking up into my face for some sort of encouragement, an enthusiastic girl who liked to plead for me to throw her after lessons were over, and since she was so sweet, I would usually oblige---- and said "No. That was god awful." After she swam away her friend said, "That was mean." I glared at the friend: "Was it?"

The rest of the period I was short with them, and though I never quite yelled, I came close. I dismissed the class a few minutes early. "Throw me!" cried Talia. "No," I growled. "Please?" I ignored her. Doron was now dressed and sitting on the bleachers. His mother asked me again if I thought I knew what his problem was? "Ma'am, I hope you don't take offense, but I think it's because your son is a big fucking puss." That's how I really wanted to answer her. I just kind of shrugged. She asked me to go and talk to him. So I went up to this mopey little shit and told him that if he had a problem in class he should feel free to just tell me what it was and it's alright if he was having trouble with the stroke, a lot of kids have trouble with elementary backstroke. He just stared at me. "Do you want to tell me what you didn't like about the class?" He shook his head, and, having had enough of this little shit, I turned to his mother, shrugged, and walked away.

I was now in a worse mood than before and full of horrible thoughts and fantasies. I wanted to smack that kid. I wanted to shake him and tell him if something in life is hard, you can't just up and quit, you've got to try harder. I mean, he swam for less than three minutes, two of which were spent kicking, literally just moving your legs up and down while the kickboard keeps you afloat. You can't handle that? So you tell your teacher you have to pee, which is a goddamn lie, then turn and run to your softshell of a mother? You little fucking brat. Guess what? If you were my son and you came to me with a complaint like that, I'd unzip my fly and piss all over you. It may have occurred to the reader of this blog entry that I probably should never have children, but, at age 26, as far as I'm concerned, that question is still up in the air. But you know what? After today's class, I really didn't want children. I thought about Talia, and Doron, and how if my kid turned out to be an annoying piece of shit, I wouldn't be able to pretend to like him. "Daddy, am I a good boy?" And I could see myself answering, "No. Not even close. You're awful."

So during this one half hour lesson I decided that a) I hated all my kids, even the ones I usually liked, b) I pretty much hate all kids in general, c) that that meant I probably wasn't going to have a family, d) would I end up kind of lonely because of that decision? and finally, e) I could be ok with that decision as long as I had a strong network of friends to keep things interesting socially. All this between 4:45 and 5:15 on an otherwise pedestrian Wednesday afternoon. And why? I haven't the slightest idea. Why would something as common as my kids not swimming well have such a dramatic effect on my moood? December 6th had not, before that point, been an especially bad day. I suppose I was a little hungry, maybe a bit dehydrated. I'd really like to know what it was. I'd like to apologize to Talia, because she really is a sweetie. But Doron: Don't ever show your loser face around my pool again.