The Only Way to Do What You Cannot Do is to Do it Over and Over Until You Can Do What You Could Not Do.

Or so I’ve heard

On Saturday, at his urging, I drove my youngest son to our local YMCA and bought him a youth membership. For $14 a month, coupled with his bicycle, my son imagined freedom. With no training, having been forced out of swimming lessons years too early as his older brothers lost interest or achieved proficiency, my son has decided he wants to swim laps.

Who knows — it could be the softness of baby belly that still sits in his midsection, on the very cusp of puberty, just waiting to grow up further than out. It could be the entry to middle school and the struggles of sixth grade social systems. It could be his grandfather’s cancer diagnosis, recent. Or his uncle’s criminal trial, postponed yet again. It could be that his older brothers achieve in obvious and calculated ways — in measurable performance or academic prowess. But neither of them, the tall blonde Captain America with his swift soccer kick and pre-med leanings, or the sun-tanned and lithe endurance cyclist who is known for taking on the entirety of a group project just to do it well, have ever swam laps — not even a little bit, not one time, not at all.

On Sunday my son shows up to the YMCA on his own with a swimsuit, goggles and…