Swim team always involves tears. In five years, I’ve never seen a first practice that didn’t send at least a handful of kids screaming for their moms. Today is no exception.
One sweet boy sits on a lounge chair rubbing his head and fighting back tears. I crouch so I’m at eye-level, “D., what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“My goggles hurt my head,” he sniffs. Two perfect ovals of red mark his forehead.
“Too tight?” He nods. “Can I loosen them up for you?” He reluctantly hands me his goggles to adjust. “Try them now,” I say, handing them back.
He looks at them and shakes his head no. “Still too tight.” During this exchange, A. who doesn’t swim on the team slides next to his friend. A push pop in his hand, he’s successfully dug through the swim bag for loose change.
“You OK?” Lick. Lick.
I leave the two to talk and step back to join my friend. A. runs past with a second lollipop in his hand. Just as I’m about to scold him for buying more candy, he hands the lollipop to his friend.
“Oh,” I turn to my friend. “I wasn’t expecting that. Good thing I didn’t yell at him.”