The Kid on the Other Lane — Karla Gonzales

2012, Blue Waters Resort, Samal Island, Philippines

The year is 1994. The Ladislawa Country Club has finally flung its gates open. For the homeowners, the deal is finally sealed — indicating the prestige that comes with living in a first-class neighbourhood. For the kids, the long wait is over. The bulldozers, contractors, and labourers are gone. It is time to dip in that tantalising swimming pool.

I am one of those children. Ten years old to be exact. It is the best time in the world for me, for I get to have access to the pool at any given time of the day. So like any ordinary kid, I come up to my father asking him if he could sign me up for swimming lessons in the country club. And of course, being the kind of guy that he is, he says ‘No’.

‘But all the other kids are enrolling, Dad,’ I insist.

‘You’re not like any other kid,’ he replies.

‘How can I learn then?’ I stomp my feet in frustration.

He gives me his knowing smile and says ‘I will teach you.’

So there, as I wait each afternoon in the pool for my Dad to arrive from work, I watch the other kids with envy. They look so happy learning together, whilst I am the lonely kid with no one to play with.

As promised, my Dad rushes to the pool to teach his daughter how to swim. It doesn’t matter if he has had a long day at work. At five o’clock, the businessman transforms himself into a swim coach.

The other kids are at one lane, like a platoon of tadpoles holding on to their float boards, heading to the command of their hired swimming instructor. Next to that lane is a father-daughter private training.

Dad doesn’t give me a float board. Instead, he patiently holds my ten-year-old belly as I kick and wave my tiny arms in the water — old-school style. He doesn’t use a stopwatch to test my speed. Instead, he uses white pebbles to count the number of lapses I make in that 25-meter pool. To him, speed is not that important. It’s endurance. How long can Karla stay in the deep waters?

In the course of our lessons, I get to learn extra survival tips from him. He teaches me that if I get in a sinking ship I need to jump and swim as far as I can. Otherwise, I will be suctioned and pulled down. He also tells me that when I get exhausted in the water, all I have to do is float on my back until I am strong enough to do the freestyle. ‘Never over-exert yourself or your legs will cramp. And if your legs cramp, do not panic. Let your arms push the water down. Always keep your head above the water and breathe deeply.’

He spends two to three hours a day in that pool with me. Eventually, as I develop my abilities, I learn to be a fast swimmer, breathing air only twice in one lapse. I swim my way into that pool as if my life depended on it. Alienated from the children my age, I swim with the adults. Little did I know that Rose, the swimming instructor for the other kids, has been taking notice all along.

‘None of my students can swim like your daughter, Mr. Gonzales. I’m so impressed at how far she has gone. She is really fast and has great potential to compete. It would be an honour for me to give her free professional swimming lessons,’ Rose comes up to me and my father one night.

‘Thanks, Rose. I taught her basic survival swimming,’ he humbly replies.

‘Perhaps I can teach her tournament-style swimming too?’ She offers.

Dad pauses. Presumably proud to realise that his daughter has gone a long way, and at the same time reluctant at the thought of sending me off to compete.

The excited little girl then blurts, ‘Does that mean that I get to be in your class with all the other kids?’

‘No, I’m afraid you’re far too advanced to be with my students. You will have your private one-on-one sessions with me right after I teach the class,’ Rose smiles.

With my Dad’s supervision, Rose gladly polishes my routines and teaches me the rules of tournament swimming — from diving, proper form, and all the way to breathing techniques when performing the butterfly strokes. On the sidelines, my father proudly watches, for this is his first glimpse at seeing me from a distance.

At the end of that summer, I start competing in tournaments.

Inevitably, the time comes when I receive invitations to represent my city and join marathons in various regions. And that’s when my Dad steps in and says ‘Okay, I let you taste what it’s like to compete, but remember, you are still a kid. You cannot grow too fast. You are driven. There is not a doubt in my mind that you will go far in swimming, but there is plenty of room for you to compete in the real world. For now, enjoy your childhood. Learn everything there is to know about life. You finish school, and one day everything I taught you in swimming will make sense.’

In retrospect, now in my adult life, I come to fully understand what my Dad meant. The father in him was afraid that I will get too ahead of my time. Through a skill, he wanted to inculcate within me a solid foundation without compromising the privilege of a normal childhood.

Looking back, there were many things that I learned from him that symbolically apply to the real world.

That in life there are no float boards. You have to rely on your arms and legs to sustain yourself. Having someone to hold you in the process is an extra blessing.

That speed is truly useless without endurance. If you swim too fast, you’ll tire down and may never finish at all. When the waters of life are hostile, your tenacity must last.

That the world is filled with mediocrity and sinking ships are people who will suck and pull you down with them because they are broken and cannot stay afloat. Swim as far away from them as possible.

Float on your back when exhausted. Learn when to rest.

Wherever the waves of life take you, push hard and always keep your head above the water so you can think.

Most importantly, spend less time competing with other people. Your true competition is yourself.

And now more than ever, I understand fully that there was nothing that I should envy about the other kids because, from the other lane, they were probably wishing that their Dad took the time to teach them how to swim.