“Kick, kick, kick!” was the relentless command of Coach Mary Jane. Her voice was very big for someone who looked like a kind, old grandmother. The rhythm of that command was repeated endlessly throughout my early swim years. My mother thought swimming would be a good exercise, and since my older sister Elizabeth was already swimming, she could take care of both of us with one taxi trip to the pool. I am fortunate to be close to all three of my older sisters, but I’ve grown particularly close to Elizabeth who is two years older than me, and swimming was a major reason. Being the youngest in my family, I was always following someone and trying to catch up. I was the last to walk, talk, go to school, ride a bike, drive, and graduate. But because I was the last, I could always count on Elizabeth to lend a hand or to set an example. For four years, Coach Mary Jane relentlessly barked her command to kick like a propeller on a boat. Unable to endure this verbal torture, I felt like I wanted to quit, but it was Elizabeth that encouraged me that she successfully passed Coach Mary Jane’s class, and so could I.
From the beginning, Elizabeth always extended a needed hand in my life. One of my favorite stories that reflects this was one my mom told me of the ride home from the hospital after I was born. I was crying in my car seat in the back when mom was startled to hear me stop. When she looked to the back seat, she noticed Elizabeth, at two years old, had reached over and taken my hand. Like a soft teddy bear, my sister’s hand was there to clutch and give the security I needed. From then on, during long car rides when mom focused on the road and couldn’t pay attention to me when I was crying, Elizabeth was always there to extend her hand.
When I was in middle school, I dreamed of making the high school swim team. I had a major problem though; I couldn’t do a flip turn or execute a dive. To achieve my goal, I had to learn both of these skills. While doing a flip turn, the biggest road block for me was getting water up my nose as I turned off the wall. When it came to diving, I just couldn’t get the motion of going head first into the water. No matter how much my coaches hounded me, yelling for me to “tuck and roll” or to “push off the block while diving,” I couldn’t get the concept. While I was struggling with these skills, it didn’t help that my other teammates who were younger could do flip turns and dive from the block. This just added to my frustrations. When I was about to give up, my sister came in again to extend her hand and motivate me to keep on going. After practices when the pool was open to the public, my sister stuck around and worked with me to help me understand flip turns and how to properly dive off the block. My sister, an experienced swimmer and captain of the varsity team, was willing to pass along everything she knew. She guided me through the art of doing a flip turn and mastering my diving technique. I will never forget the feeling of my first successful flip turn and springing head first from the diving block. I now had the opportunity to achieve my dream of making the high school varsity swim team.
As I started my freshmen year, I was greeted by Elizabeth’s welcoming hand. A sense of excitement came over me as this was my first official swim practice in the big leagues. I was very nervous, but my sister gave me a boost of confidence. Even though this was her last year swimming, my sister helped me get comfortable with my new team. She introduced me to the coaches, her friends, and the rest of the crew. Some of those swimmers are still my friends to this day. During swimming parties, I sometimes glanced to see where Elizabeth and her friends were so I could join them. It was her senior year, and she was working to achieve her WPIAL qualifying time. Despite her own preoccupations, Elizabeth extended her hand of support and made me feel like I was part of her swim family. I had made it; I was a varsity swimmer.
My sophomore year began without the sister who made this all possible. She had shared with me everything she knew, and now it was my turn to shine. For the next three years, my swimming adventures turned what I had seen as Elizabeth’s friends, into mine. During practices, we would choose our lane from a six-lane, clear-blue, chlorine pool, and I always chose the lane with all my friends. Sometimes we partnered to film each other diving so we could critique each other’s techniques. During meets, I cheered them on, and my teammates cheered me on as I sliced through the water during my events. After away meets, our team crammed into the back of the bus, and we jammed out to “I Want It That Way” by The Backstreet Boys. While the boys and I were preparing for meets, we would get hyped listening to loud music in the locker room. Being on the varsity swim team, I felt like a boxer who always had someone cheering in my corner.
It still doesn’t feel good being the youngest in my family and the last one to do things. However, none of my high school swim experiences would have happened if my older sister wasn’t there from the beginning to reach out and take my hand.
