“Let’s take the kids to the Toronto Zoo.”
“Great idea. We can stay over a night at a hotel that has a pool. The kids will love it.”
“They’re doing a costume-parade-type-thing for Halloween at the zoo. We can dress the kids up like animals and walk around and see the animals.”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah!”
So we book a stay at a hotel not too far east of downtown Toronto. We get there, check in, ride the elevator to our floor, settle in, ride the elevator down to the dining floor, eat dinner, ride the elevator back up to our floor, go back to the room to change into our swimsuits, hop back in the elevator and go down to the pool.
The kids, 23 months and almost 4-years, aren’t ready to get into the big pool yet so we begin with one of those “warm” tubs. It’s like a hot tub but not as hot. While working up the nerve to go the main pool we meet a gentleman and his son who were also enjoying the amenities. He’s an employee of a sister hotel downtown and is just here to let his son swim. He’s from Sri Lanka and is telling us about growing up there and how his father (and most others according to him) taught him to swim.
Step 1: Throw your child into the ocean.
Step 2: Wait.
This isn’t the first I’ve heard of this method. I know people who’ve spoken of it though I’ve never met someone who’s actually done it. This kind and talkative gentleman is keying in on William’s trepidation to go in the big pool. He deduces that William can’t swim and suggests we give him a lesson, Sri Lanka-style. We laugh it off. Our new friend persists. It’s starting to get uncomfortable.
We decide to go over to the actual hot tub which is adjacent to the pool. Children aren’t supposed to be in a hot tub so they’re sitting on the edge with their feet dangling while Meredith and I submerge to shoulder-level. The gentleman and his son (who was a cute kid by the way) find their way over. He’s fully dressed so he’s just standing near the edge while his son plays and swims. No problem.
Until he tries to pick up William and throw him into the pool.
I explode out of that hot tub like steam from an underwater volcano.
“You don’t touch him! He’s my son and you don’t touch him! Do you understand!?”
I’m pointing my finger at him.
I don’t even think. It just happens. I am not in control of myself right now.
The gentleman never actually gets William off the ground. His hands are approaching my son’s armpits when I turn into the Incredible Hulk. He keeps his cool and even maintains a smile through the whole thing. He really is an innocent enough guy. He just does a triple jump over “the line.”
I’m between him and my son now. He acknowledges the recently affirmed chain of command in this aquatic escapade. His acknowledgement is sufficient and I stand down. The delicate hotel pool room equilibrium is restored. We finish out our time and head back upstairs. Yes, we take the elevator.
The feeling I felt that night I feel in a muted fashion recounting this right now.
Some call it a hijack. Something steps on the tail of a closely held belief or point of personal pride and “boom!”, hijack. Like a gun to the head with a “get out of the car!” close behind. It’s pretty easy to see how a strange man trying to throw your son who can’t swim into a pool would flip the switch. That’s a real threat which elicits a real response.
But how do you explain getting the same feeling when someone opposes an idea you have? Why the same tightness in the chest? The same warmth in your face and ears? The inability to focus on anything but the threat? No one is in danger. But you have the same chemical reaction. If you’ve ever gotten verbally attacked by someone for something you said and couldn’t fathom why their response was so venomous this may be what was going on. You may not have intended it, but you just tried to throw their son in the pool. At least that’s what it looked like from their seat in the hot tub.
We all have these triggers. Not all of them are worthy of this kind of defense but it’s not easy to know which ones are false idols.
Please remember along with me that every one of us has something to defend and also something to reconsider. We might get them mixed up from time to time but we need to keep the conversation going.
Putting the other party out of commission makes the conversation a lot harder to have.
(Unless they’re literally trying to throw your son in the pool. In that case, I’ve got your back.)
