Grandmothers Come in All Forms

My children are at the pool right now with my mother. They haven't quite reached the age, yet, when they have good sense enough to be embarrassed by us adults. They still see the world through chlorine induced rainbows around lamp posts. So, it doesn't bother them that their 62 year-old Poppy still wears a bathing suit in public. It doesn't phase them that she swims, gets her hair wet, and lets it air dry. And they haven't seemed to notice everyone nudging each other and whispering, "Look, here comes the diving granny."

All eyes, hidden behind sunglasses and visors, rivet on the diving granny as she peels off her baseball cap, steps out of her shorts, approaches the side of the pool, swings her arms down by her side, then up over her head, and . . . swoosh, gracefully swoops under the water, head first. She surfaces with her grayish-blondish hair plastered to her head.

Secretly, the moms, with fresh manicures and styled hair, who infrequently enter the pool, and when they do walk gingerly, avoiding splashes and pushing the water out of the way with their fingertips, watch. In their hearts, they cheer her on for her bravery. Because, of course, we all want the courage to be diving grannies, too, someday!