Recently Cousin Rod called me up to go fishing.

Let’s see, I thought. Go fishing. Cut grass. Go fishing. Cut grass.

I decided to buy night crawlers for my hook instead of gas for the lawn mower.

He picked me up around six o’clock Saturday morning and we headed out to Potter’s Pond.

We put the boat in and slowly moved out into the tranquil waters as the early sunlight began to burn off the morning mist. We baited our hooks and reared back like two old guys that had nothing better to do than fish and talk about the good ol’ days. In our case, the good old days consisted of high school memories, stories about fish we had supposedly caught that were the size of Uncle Bob’s German shepherd, old girlfriends and the Gross National Product.

As our discussions continued, I decided to move toward shore for lunch. As I rearranged the cooler of night crawlers, the boat shifted a tad. Rod grabbed the sides of the boat.

“For cryin’ out loud!” He exclaimed. “Stop rockin’ the boat.”

“I’m not rockin’ the boat,” I said.

“Yes you are.”

“Don’t be a baby,” I laughed. “What’s the worse that could happen? You might get your panties wet.”

“Don’t laugh. You know I can’t swim.”

You could have knocked me over with the feather on my homemade lure.

“Now, Rod, I know you didn’t just say what I thought I heard you say.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. Now help me paddle to shore. I’m starvin’.”

“You’re starvin’ and I’m crazy—crazy for coming out here in a boat surrounded by water with a fool who can’t swim. Why on earth have you never told me that?”

“It never came up,” Rod responded.

“Great. It never came up. And when do you think it might come up?” I asked. “When you didn’t come up after falling in?”

“Paddle, daggone it. Paddle before I hit you with the oar.”

“Oh, that would be smart. Hit me with the oar and knock me in the water. And who do you think is going to save me? The Little Mermaid?”

I rowed. Rod said nothing else until we docked.

“So, what did Scarlett fix you for lunch?” Rod asked trying to change the subject.

“Bologna,” I answered. “I’d offer you a bite, but you’re already full of it.”

“OK,” he said annoyed. “So I can’t swim. What of it?”

“You’ve been fishing for years,” I said. “I guess I should have assumed you had sense enough not to go out in a boat when you couldn’t swim.”

“I’ve been fine up to now.”

“You’ve been stupid up to now. First thing Monday morning, you’re signing up for swimming lessons.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m serious. Bring your nose plugs and water wings because Rod the Rock is going to learn how to keep from sinking.”

“No way,” he exclaimed as he bit into his hero sandwich.

I am shocked at the number of people who reach adulthood without learning to swim. For some, it is the fear of water that keeps them from taking the plunge. For others, it is the fear of embarrassing themselves. But when an emergency arises requiring swimming skills, fear will not keep your head above water. Without the proper training, I promise you will be way over your head.

Some people board ocean liners without knowing how to swim—never thinking they might have to jump into the water after a fire in the engine room sends their vessel to the bottom of the ocean. Please, they say, that will never happen to me. Be prepared.

Others can’t even tread water yet they are willing to drive through creeks which have swelled due to torrential downpours—never thinking they might have to crawl out of their driver’s side window and swim to safety. Always expect the unexpected.

When I was growing up, a fear of water or fear of embarrassment did not exist because my parents never allowed them to exist.
Learning to swim was as much a part of childhood as learning to walk, learning to talk and learning to hate broccoli. At 5 years of age, I learned the basics, at 8 I was mastering the American crawl, at 9 I was diving, and by the age of 11, I swam the English Channel. (OK, maybe I didn’t, but it sounded good.) Today, I have no fears at all when it comes to water. Except, of course, when I watch the movie “Jaws.”

My wife and I had our daughters taking swimming lessons long before they could spell “water.” Now, at 23 and 25, they could pass as extras in an Esther Williams musical.

Don’t we owe it to our children to teach them one of life’s most basic skills? Not only is swimming a great way to cool off during the long, hot summer, but it could mean the difference between life and death when an unexpected situation arises.

Just like Cousin Rod, we seem to get more and more stubborn as we grow older. That is why it is best to teach our children to swim at an early age when they look at learning something new as an adventure instead of an inconvenience. But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost.

Lately, I’ve been buying more lawn mower gas than night crawlers. Rod and I have put our fishing expeditions on hold for a while. It isn’t because I don’t trust him out in the boat anymore; his swimming lessons are at 8:30 every Saturday morning. So you see, not only can you teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach him how to doggie paddle, too.