The Man I Took to the Pool

Sometimes when I’m driving with Lucas in the backseat, I’ll reach my hand back and give his leg a double tap.

Usually down by his calf, it’s an acknowledgment when there’s little conversation going. Sort of a “hey there, pal” type of tap.

When your kid is nonverbal, those little moments go a long way. They let Lucas know that we’re still connected.

With the weather getting hotter, his pants have shortened. For the first time in a year, he’s riding in the car with shorts on.

And when I reach back for that double tap…

I’m tapping Captain Caveman.

Who the hell is this man in my car? How is my son still my baby but also this rapidly growing fella? It’s like when Bugs Bunny drank the potion and became a giant hairy rabbit monster overnight. That’s what we have here. The Rabbit Monster and I are driving down Sunrise Highway.

April showers bring May flowers and May flowers bring shorts and swimming weather. As soon as his calves were out in the open, I knew the pool wasn’t far behind.

I was all set for our first pool day this past weekend.

For years, Lucas has always loved bopping around in the water. It’s one of the only activities he’ll willingly give up his iPad for. I love seeing how much he loves it.

Of course, he also hates getting out of the pool.

Some of our grandest lessons involved opposition to leaving. When he was little, it could be pretty difficult to get him out.

Then it hit me.

It’s going to be impossible now.

This is the Rabbit Monster we’re talking about. The Tiny Toon version of my son aged out years ago. Even then, I had a tough time getting him to listen to me. I was genuinely worried that I was cooked, as the kids say.

Honestly, things felt different from the start.

I showed Lucas some pictures of the pool on my phone and told him we were going. I did homemade hand signals for the pool that resembled a 1950s backup dancer performing to a beach ballad.

When it was time to leave, he put his iPad on his bed and walked out.

No problems.

When we arrived, he was more patient than I remembered him ever being. Walking through the gate, he motioned to get into the pool. I stopped him and gestured toward one of the open chairs. Without hesitation, he followed along.

From there, we took off our shoes and got in.

That was it.

The one main difference was that I didn’t let him go into the deeper end.

Years ago, I could hold him and let him float around. Now that he outweighs me, I assumed those days were over.

Actually, we did it.

Sure, we didn’t go into the deepest parts, but I was still able to hold him up and sway him around in circles. I figured if he could try his best, I could too.

My boy was a rock star and, being the people magnet he is, even made us some new friends. Everyone remarked about how well-behaved he was. It was a proud moment.

When the time came to leave, he was against it.

My guy did his favorite act of aquatic opposition. He’d start climbing the steps to get out and then suddenly, out of nowhere, fall backward into the pool again.

He does this with absolutely no expression on his face. No smile. No laugh. Just a stone-faced act of defiance.

There was once a time when this would drive me crazy. I’d beg and plead for him to stop and make all sorts of hand motions to coax him out.

This time?

I just let him do it.

After about five times, he got out. That was it. It ended up being one of our proudest pool visits yet.

The maturity that frightened me so much in Lucas turned out to be the very thing that made the day such a success. Sure, he’s grown physically, but he’s grown emotionally too. He’s more patient. He understands more. He trusts me more.

But that growth doesn’t end with Lucas.

I’ve changed too.

The way I handle situations today didn’t appear overnight. It’s the result of years of pool visits, difficult moments, communication gaps, small victories, and plenty of mistakes. Those early days taught me how my son thinks. They taught me when to push, when to wait, and when to simply let a moment play out.

Without those experiences, neither of us would know the other as well as we do.

Lucas trusts me. What’s more surprising is that I trust myself.

I trust that I can handle whatever comes up. I trust what I’ve learned about my son. I trust my ability to anticipate his needs and help him understand what’s happening around him. That confidence wasn’t there years ago. It was earned one experience at a time.

That’s what gives me hope.

Maturity isn’t just about getting bigger. It’s about becoming more comfortable in your own skin. It’s about learning who you are and how to move through the world.

Sure, Lucas may look like a grown man these days. Every time I reach back for that familiar double tap, I’m reminded of that.

But underneath the Rabbit Monster is still my boy.

And every year, he keeps becoming the best version of himself he can be.

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