This swim parent's right at home

For years, I internally sneered at them. Them. Crowded in sweaty masses on aluminum bleachers outside my office. Huddled around power outlets to keep their various devices charged and ready. Folding chairs of various complexity, splayed out for the long mornings and afternoons at the swim meets. They overtake our beloved racquetball court, made it into a snack bar and a swimwear swap shop. Swim parents! They have inhabited my world in the McCann Recreation Center for the past quarter century or more – countless youth swimmers invading my lockerroom space, back when I was a competitive runner training from McCann, even more countless parents and restless siblings, waiting impatiently on or around those metal bleachers, endlessly, for heat after heat, section after section, age group after age group, to watch their child swim for a minute or less, maybe a bit more if they are older and in a longer event. Club swimming. Swim parents. Them. Sheesh.

Guess what. Oh. You know. You know! I’m one of them now. That’s right. A swim parent. Perhaps I have made reference to this. Maybe not. Here’s the thing! This weekend, my worlds collided head-on, at the Red Fox Aquatic Club Holiday Invitational. Those swim parents -- whose gauntlet I had to run through, bobbing and weaving around the maze of team T-shirts, folding chairs, laptops, iDevices, etc., to get to my office – became my ranks this weekend. Them. Me. It was a surreal feeling, going from the sneer-er to the sneer-ee. Boy. It does get warm up there. Crowded. What event is James in? Natalie’s in event 97? What heat? Is it fast to slow? What lane? Hey. How come that guy is standing there, in my way, when clearly he hasn’t had a kid in a race in the past 10 events? Pete. Dude. Bro! Listen to your inner voice. Listen! You WORK here, man. These are the people who, for years, have baffled you because of their intense fervor. Yeah. Them. Now, I’m one of them. I’m one with the masses, nudging my way to the front to get splits for my children. Sneer no more, my friends. Swim parents are humans too. And, all joking aside, I love it. Love it! It’s warm. It’s inside. It’s my KIDS. And, it’s at Marist, so I can defy the “this area closed” sign and indeed go into my office to drop off my coat and hat and gloves, and maybe get some peace and quiet between event 33 and event 107. Again, before I get flooded with swim parent hate mail from the half-dozen or so followers of this blog: I like being a swim parent. I have a “swim dad” car magnet on my driver’s side door. Long, endless meets with a lot of down time between events of interest. Hey. I’m a track coach. I’m uniquely qualified for this. Especially if there is coffee at the snack bar.