Splashes and Sips: My Son Loves Drinking Pool Water

I forgot how much my son loved going to the pool.

…And I also forgot how much he loves drinking the water from the pool. Gross.

It’s been a year since we went near our community swimming area and that has been by design. Lucas is a huge fan of floating in the water and, unfortunately, the playground is right next to it. So the few times I tried to bring him to the swings, he became distraught that we couldn’t go and jump into the frozen tarp-covered pool.

Since Lucas is nonverbal with autism, it’s difficult to relay some information to him. While I was able to get him to understand that we couldn’t go in to the pool during the winter months, I’m not sure if I was able to get him to comprehend why. To Lucas, the reason is probably just, “My dad’s a pool grinch.”

So that was the end of the playground. Considering that every outing to the area tuned into the sobbing scene at the end of La Bamba, I opted to stay away until the weather got nice and the tarp was removed from the pool. That time is now.

Almost immediately upon arriving, I remembered how adorable it is to see my not-so-little man floating around the kiddie pool, when there were no kiddies around. He couldn’t have been happier to be back in his habitat.

I smiled and took pictures as the sun beat down on us. This is the stuff that memories are made of. I watched as my boy smiled and bopped around the water.

Then his tongue came out and I remembered. I remembered my yearly fear that he would accidentally drown himself on purpose or get some sort of water disease.

In one of the most infuriating habits that he’s picked up, Lucas tries to drink the pool. Like most broken rules in my little man’s life, he doesn’t go out of his way to hide it either. He’ll literally lock eyes with you as he disobeys whatever you ask.

My son slowly floats around on his knees with the water right up to his chin. Then, just as it starts to reach his lips, he’ll open his mouth, so it barely touches the water. Then, just as it does, he sticks out his tongue and leans back as if to say, “Whoops. Look at me. Accidentally drinking that water.” It causes alarm bells to go off in my head.

Lucas. No. No mouth. Close your mouth.

I call his name and, as he looks up, I wag my finger in our symbolic “no, no, no” motion. Typically, he’ll repeat the gesture to show he gets my meaning. In the pool, he doesn’t.

Rather, Lucas will look at me with a fixed and indifferent gaze. Then he’ll lean back and freakin’ do it again. Once more I scold him with my wagging finger.

And, once again, he drinks the pool. This continues the entire time.

I’m left with imagined emergency room visits and explanations as to how my son has arrived at the hospital with gallons of green pool water in his belly.

After about an hour, enough time had passed and we were ready to go. I was done saving his life from the giant chlorine cocktail.

When the time came to leave, I held my hand out and, while he tried to drift back in a few times, he eventually came along without incident. We were home within minutes, content with our day in the sun.

Now, when Lucas and I were younger, that pool-drinking thing would have overshadowed the entire day. I’d have thought about my inability to stop him and how difficult certain tasks were. I’d lament about what he didn’t understand and how the world is so dangerous for a boy like him. Any positive memories of our day would have been waterlogged behind the despair that this supposed-major issue caused.

This year, however, that didn’t happen. That’s because I’ve learned to take notice the advancements he’s making. As I mentioned, he left the pool without incident.

It seems like a small thing. But that’s only because I was so focused on today’s frustrations, that I didn’t remember the issues from years past. I didn’t recall the frustrations that no longer exist and the maturity he’s shown in other areas that once sat atop our checklist.

Last year, Lucas wouldn’t have left the pool without a meltdown. He would have caused major waves (pun intended). My little manatee in a t-shirt would have flopped around that kid pool screaming and flailing. He would have swung his arms, screamed at the top of his lungs, and nearly drowned himself. It would have been awful.

How do I know this? Because it’s happened. More than once.

This year, on this day, it didn’t. Instead of fighting him tooth and nail to leave this watery trap, he trusted me enough to come along. It was a huge milestone moment that I could have very easily missed, if I wasn’t paying attention.

Twelve months ago, as I dragged his weeping carcass from the swimming area, I would have prayed for him to not have a fit upon leaving the pool. I’d want to have him understand why we were going and that we’d be back soon. My heart would break as I’d pull him to the gate, wet and sobbing.

My dream last year was to have him be the boy he is this year. It came true. He succeeded. Lucas overcame this major obstacle.

If I had let our current frustrations distract me, I might have missed witnessing the incredible progress my son has made. It’s easy to overlook the small steps forward when challenges loom large, but each moment of growth deserves recognition. Reflecting on our day at the pool, I saw not just a child splashing water or playfully defying rules, but a young boy maturing, adapting, and thriving in his own way.

As we wrapped up our pool day, I could clearly see the effort Lucas has put into growing since our last visit. By this time next year, today’s frustrations will likely have faded, replaced by new challenges and new achievements. This continual progress underscores the importance of celebrating the positive strides, no matter how small they may seem.

Here’s to the joy in the journey, Lucas. Go ahead, throw your head back, stick out your tongue, and savor the moment. You’ve earned it. Cheers to you, kiddo.