In the Graz, Austria posting, I talked about our "safety culture shock" and this is an extension of that. You can easily make the case that the American obsession with non-gun safety is over the top--a result of either an over-litigious society, a nanny state, or a well-intentioned desire to save people from themselves, depending upon your political leanings. I'm not here to debate this issue because for whatever reason--and despite our best efforts to tell them otherwise--our children do not take a safety threat seriously unless it is written on a sign in giant red letters with a strobe light on top in front of a cyclone fence next to a guard carrying a gun.
In general, the girl will listen to our advice not to climb stairs that lead to a small landing before a drop-off, but the boy is older, cockier, and more stubborn. For example, in Dürnstein he walked to the edge of the castle ruins and asked me to take a picture of him from where I stood 30 feet below. I'm not sure what to do in situations like this (I'm completely open to suggestions) because he's almost as tall as I am and I can no longer put him on a child's leach and pull him back--as much as I would like to do so. What I usually do (after stifling the need to scream) is firmly tell him he's being unsafe, threaten to punish him, then punish him (dessert privileges and food in general are our only leverage here with all toys and game systems sitting at home), then later talk to him about what the consequences of his actions could have been. This is the point where we get the distinct impression that the loss of dessert is the only comment getting his attention.
Now, the kids have been in swim lessons since they were babies so they are much stronger swimmers than their parents and they know it. In fact, my husband doesn't swim at all, and I have battled a life-long terror of water, but I can carry my daughter on my back if necessary or tow either of them if they lay on their backs and I'm not thinking of what creature or object could lurk beneath me.
So, we were only in our apartment near Umag, Croatia a few minutes before the kids pulled us down to the sea and asked us for permission to swim. To our surprise, the high salt content of the Adriatic Sea feels like it's pushing you up from the bottom so you don't fatigue nearly as soon as you would in fresh water.
The first day, the kids and I swam out just past the swim buoys and back with little effort or trouble. The second day was nearly the same except the girl became fatigued and I needed to tow her back to "L" shaped pier.
On the third day, the Bura winds kicked-up. These are strong north-easterly winds that can reach 125mph in the winter, but in the summer, they're strong enough to blow other people's clothing onto your balcony, use your hair as an effective weapon against your face, or pick up a strip of bacon from your plate and deposit it onto your shirt. You can imagine what a wind this strong can do to the sea so it was no wonder there was no one in the water when we returned from Motovun on the afternoon of the third day.
It only took one wave crashing over the bottom half of the pier for the girl to decide that "beach is closed to swimming" signs weren't necessary. She wasn't going anywhere near the water. The boy was a different matter. He saw the crashing waves, ran from the bottom of the pier to avoid them, and still thought this was a laughing matter. He also thought our obvious concern was a laughing matter and threatened to jump in multiple times. We tried to keep calm, then told him he could jump into the side sheltered by the end of the "L" because the waves there were only a foot or so high and the water was only three feet deep. He ignored our response, ran to the end of the pier and threatened to jump off the sea side of the "L". His father walked only half way down the pier because he didn't want to get the camera wet to yell at him to come back. He did, but only to run around me laughing and asking, "Mom, can I jump in? Mom?"
His father had already told him no outright, and I told him again that the protected side of the pier was his only option since I still wore my jeans and fleece top and there was no way I was jumping into white cap waves to save him when every third wave was crashing over the pier. I then repeated that if he was stupid enough to jump into the sea side of the pier, he was on his own.
In retrospect, I should not have said this. I should have threatened something really big like the loss of his dog when we got home, or the destruction of any device that has a plug or a battery, but I really thought my statement would scare him into giving up on the sea. Unfortunately, he saw my response as a dare. He ran past his father and said that I said it was OK for him to swim. I didn't hear the boy say this because the wind was too strong and I didn't run after him because I thought this would only provoke him to jump. In fact, I was surprised when my husband walked away from my son to the shoreline to ask me why I would say it was OK for our son to swim in high seas.
In any event, I didn't really hear my husband because I was pulling out the cell phone from my pocket, and scanning the area for flotation devices. There was a life ring and a paddle board board nearby, but there was no time to grab either before the boy jumped off the sea side of the pier.
I ran past my husband and down the pier, but I couldn't see my son until I got to the stairs on the sea side of the "L". I yelled for him to get back up immediately, but he wasn't startled by me at all. He just turned to me slowly with a look of genuine concern on his face that seemed much older than his years, then he said calmly, "Mom, I'm trying, but I can't."
I went down the stairs, and held out my hand to him, grabbing the hand rail for leverage. The waves were already pulling him out, so I couldn't reach him at first, but I implored him to swim and he did. A second after he grabbed my hand, the sea withdrew and pulled him a foot or so away, breaking our grasp.
Upon reading accounts of children swept away from their parents arms by a tsunami or storm wave, I always wondered why the parents couldn't hold on and secretly thought I could. I was stronger or I would know better. But I'm here to tell you that however much you love your child or however much you try, you are no match for the strength of the sea.
My husband ran to the end of the pier. I didn't see him but I assumed he was nearby, so I yelled for him to get the life ring. He didn't hear me. A wave came in and brought my son with it. I grabbed him further down his arm before a pier-covering wave crashed over all of us and broke our grasp a second time. As stupid as it sounds, I was ready to jump into the sea at this stage because nothing else was working and both my son and I were beginning to feel desperate.
A wave swelled but didn't crash, bringing my son toward me a third time. I grabbed his hand and pulled him as hard as I could before the water receded. When it did, I was holding my son on the stairs and my husband was standing over us.
I know I have never felt so relieved and angry, and I don't think the human body is built to deal with such strong opposing forces at the same time. It begins to shake and you become desperate to walk away and pretend nothing happened or scream as loud as the wind and scare everything around you. I am aware of how dramatic this sounds, but it is sincere. I am not the dramatic type, so I walked away.
I was half way home when my son stopped his sister and I on the path and asked very sweetly if my cell phone was ruined. I grabbed his shoulders with both of my arms, bent down slightly so we were eyeball to eyeball and said, "You are getting too old to be making stupid decisions like this. We won't always be around to save you." But what I didn't say was that I am terrified of the decisions he will make with his friends on a double-dog dare when he is a teenager and his father and I are at home thinking he is at the movies, and I will never forgive myself if I don't develop some kind of psychic power so his father or I can be there to pull him out of trouble if he ever needs it again.
My son is not one for hugging, but he laid his head on my shoulder that night while we watched TV. He asked me not to mention this incident again, but I haven't been able to do that yet. I may just keep telling the story until it scares me less, but I don't know how long that will take.
© 2012 Nicole Wirth
Author of: Letters to Salthill
I'm so glad he's ok. How incredibly scary. Give everyone big hugs for me.
ReplyDeleteI will definitely do. Love to everyone there!
ReplyDelete