Owen and the Fourth

A Special Post From the MBT Blog – published by MBT More Business Today LLC

When I think about the 4th of July, I think about my son Owen and remember a day at Hoyt Pool in Wauwatosa. A perfectly warm day with few clouds in the blue sky, the newly opened pool offered a beautiful, fun escape. In addition to a splash area for younger kids, it had a big, colorful slide for the entertainment of older kids.

Owen has a disability that affects his arms and legs. My son, however, gravitates toward mastering the things that other people believe he cannot do. So, of course, he figured out a way to swim using his strong thighs to kick his legs. He practiced holding his breath, planning to achieve a world record.

“Mom, mom, count how long I am under the water. I bet I can do three minutes. Ready? Go!” he would say too quickly for me to be ready and count. He loved the water. It gave him the freedom of movement he could not replicate on dry land. I picture him now wearing his swim goggles and staring at me intensely, hopping on the foot of his one straight leg while he readied himself for a plunge under the water.

Sometimes, he would hook his ankles onto the side of the pool and submerge himself backwards. Those times, he stayed under the longest. Just when I began to panic a bit that he was under too long, he popped up with a laugh. He delighted in seeing the panic in my face. “Mom, mom! I know what I’m doing,” he would say with a laugh and happily swim away.

I am not a great swimmer. I do not like being in water over my head. My sweet son tried to coax me out of my fear each time we visited our beautiful pool. “Come on, mom. You can swim. Go in the deep water with me.”

I ventured forth into the deep – for me, that is anything over 4’ 10”. Quickly, I skittered back to my comfort zone at the edge of the pool where I would get a bit of exercise by holding on and kicking.

On this festive 4th of July, a lifeguard told us Owen must pass a swimming test before playing in the deep end again. I held my breath, waiting for Owen’s response. Ever the worrier, I feared he would refuse, or worse, fail the test. I could see him refusing to go to the pool in the future if he failed. He loved the water so completely, I feared he would cut himself off from the great joy of the big pool.

“Okay!” Owen said. “What do I have to do?” The rules stated he had to swim out to the deep and come back without touching the bottom. It seemed a huge distance to me. I do not remember the specifics.

I asked the lifeguard how many times he would have to do this. What if the lifeguards changed shifts? The kids receive a password once they pass, he told me. I nodded at hearing that. We had heard kids shouting random words at the lifeguards before: Inner tube., friend, truck, and so on.

It was time for Owen to take the swimming test. He took a deep breath, plunged himself under the water, and quickly swam straight across, into the deep, past the other kids watching him in awe, straight to the next set of ropes. Then, he hovered for a second, treading water, and swam back.

No arms! He never used his arms, because they have no muscles in them. I explained that to the lifeguard. I taught him how to say Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita that day. He repeated after me, “aar·throw·gri·pow·suhs muhl·tee·pleks kuhn·jeh·nuh·tuh.

Owen arrived at the pool wall and looked up at the lifeguard.

“Well?”

“You passed!” he said giving a big, tanned thumbs up.

“What’s my word?” Owen said laughing with delight.

“Independence,” the lifeguard said.

A day of triumph for my amazing son who spent the entire day shouting, “Independence” at the amazed lifeguards.