My youngest kids are both like fish. They love the water, as I did when I was a child, and they can't get enough of it. This summer I've been taking them to the Simpkin Family Swim Center for lessons. Justin is a Barracuda, working on endurance and improving his strokes. Emily, who's three-and-a half, moved through the Guppy class, and graduated on to Goldfish, where the kids take the leap to real swimming. Both kids go to lessons every night at 6:00. It's all Emily talks about all day, "When's my swim lesson?" She's delighted and proud and her excitement is infectious. She wears black goggles and talks nonstop through her swim lessons (when she's not underwater). She floats perfectly on her back, dunks happily under the water and practices her "ice cream scoopers" and "Superman glides."
      Emily has two friends, both her age, swimming at the same time she does. They're both in the class below her. One is just learning to put her face in the water; the other is reluctant to get in the water at all. Smug and proud, I smile at their parents, watching Emily in the water, no holds barred.

      I'd planned for the kids to take a two-week break from lessons, but Emily begs me to sign her up for another class. It's clearly the teachable moment. She's thrilled and joyous on the cusp of putting it all together. So I sign both kids up for the extra session.
      Three days into her new class, Emily, who's been happily doing everything the teacher asks, suddenly starts crying and asks to come out of the pool. Joan hoists her out and wraps her in a robe. Emily says her tummy hurts and sits out the rest of her lesson. We assume she's getting sick and take her home. The next day, she seems better, but when we get to the pool, she refuses to get in. The following day, Emily has a big melt down when it's time to leave for swimming. Joan tries to bribe her with a toy. I try to bribe her with Lifesavers. Justin tries to cajole her, "Don't you want to be a swimmer like me?" (Emily's immediate response: "No!")
      Normally, Emily is relatively malleable (for a three-year-old) and we don't resort to such tactics, but we're disturbed at her refusal and concerned at the way she's digging in her heels. We want to get her back in the water before her refusal gets set in stone.
      Emily, however, is immune to our efforts to manipulate her. "I'm not going to my swimming lesson," she insists. "I'm never going to swimming lessons ever again."
      I ask her why. Emily says she doesn't know.

      That night, Emily stays home with Joan and I take Justin to Barracudas. As I sit there watching his teacher put the kids through their paces of butterfly, backstroke and freestyle, I'm obsessing on Emily's refusal to get into the pool. Neither Joan or I are aware of anything negative that happened in class, nor has Emily been able to articulate the problem. How could she go from enthusiasm and happiness to outright refusal? Swimming was her pride and pleasure. Why has her joy disappeared? Was it starting out in the deeper water? Changing teachers? Having a couple of older girls in her class?
      What started as a simple tummy ache is turning into a power struggle. I wonder if I've become too invested in her success, and now she feels compelled to push against me. I think about how much I spent on her lessons and wonder if I should cancel the rest.

      Justin's class is learning to tread water. Watching him, I decide that I want to take the pressure off Emily. I stop asking her to put on her bathing suit when it's time for lessons. Then one of her teachers suggests bringing her to the pool for free swim.
      The following Sunday, I bring Emily to free swim at the pool. She's fearless and happy in the water, gleefully showing off all of her tricks, asking me to take her out into the deep water, playing underwater tag, and repeatedly swimming to the wall. She comes out at the end, fingers wrinkled, smiling and shivering, saying, "I want to go to free swim again!"
      I say, "Emily, we can come back to free swim next weekend. But if you want to swim before then, you'll need to go to your lessons."
      "I'm NOT going to lessons. I'm only going to free swim!"

      The next night, during Justin's lesson, I take her over, dressed and we watch the other Goldfish in the pool. When we get home, Emily asks to put on her bathing suit and goggles to take a bath. She "swims" in the tub for more than an hour.
      Every night it is the same-we go to lessons and Emily refuses to swim. She happily watches, dry and safe in my arms. The next week, a new session of lessons is about to begin. This time, her best friend, Rachel has graduated from Guppies and is going to be a Goldfish too, and they're signed up for the same class. On Friday night, I talk to Emily about it. The conversation goes something like this: