Productive struggle...

...in the swimming pool

Image via AI

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As Derek Mullet, the Chief Inspector of Pools, arrived, he observed a furious commotion. In the deep end, a child was bobbing and floundering, grasping for a handhold that was not there. Without a moment’s thought, Mullet jumped straight in, fully suited, grabbed the child and brought him safely to the side where, much to Mullet’s surprise, the swimming coach was standing, tapping his foot impatiently.

“What did you do that for?” asked the coach.

“I saved the boys life!” Mullet replied. “He was drowning.”

“No, he wasn’t,” snapped the coach.

“Yes, he was!” said Mullet.

Mullet levered himself out of the pool and stood square, facing the coach, dripping.

“He was just struggling productively,” the coach asserted. “How is he now going to evaluate the success of his swimming strategy with his group mates?”

The coach gestured to three children whose backs were pressed firmly to the rear wall of the swimming centre with a look of sheer terror in their eyes.

Mullet turned to the coach, then to the group of children, then back to the coach. “You cannot just throw children into a pool and expect them to figure out how to swim!”

The coach let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, here we go,” he said. “What a lazy stereotype. The idea we just ‘throw ‘em in the pool’ and let them figure it out. I mean, seriously, there is far more to it than that. Complex hydrous pedagogy takes a lot of skill.”

“But you are not giving them any guidance on what to do,” said Mullet.

The coach grew indignant. “I give them loads of guidance. I ask them guiding and prompting questions as they go along. I get the children to share their strategies with each other. I scaffold. It’s just that it’s a more balanced approach than simply standing there and telling them everything and balance is an inherently good thing. My approach is a highly advanced form of coaching. I dare say you couldn’t do it with your need for control. I dare say any students of yours would hate you. You are practically Hitler.”

“Steady on,” said Mullet.

“Well, it’s your fault. You made me say that with your lazy cliches, your false dichotomies and your lack of nuance.”

Mullet gathered himself. He swallowed. It was time to change tack.

“What are you trying to achieve with this approach? What are the benefits?” Mullet asked.

“Ah,” replied the coach. “For too long, swimming has been seen as applying a fixed set of procedures with the sole purpose of getting from one side of the pool to another. It is more important that children exercise aqueous thinking. It’s all very well getting from one side of the pool to another, but that’s not — ultimately — what swimming is about. What if the children don’t understand how they have done it? What is the point? We don’t want to create swimming-zombies!” answered the coach.

Mullet paused to contemplate this answer.

“OK,” said Mullet. “Why does intentionally causing them to struggle help with that?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” said the coach. “You’re doing it again — What a stupid thing to say! It’s not about intent. Struggle is unavoidable. Nobody can learn to swim without struggling.”

“Erm, well, you have to apply yourself. Sure. There’s effort involved. But that’s different to getting them to invent swimming strategies for themselves…”

“…in groups!…’ the coach interrupted.

“OK, in groups. Why would you do that?”

“You do realise there is no script you can follow that will get the required result out of every single child in the pool,” said the coach. “I guess you are in favour of children rote memorising procedures for swimming?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that…”

“No,” said the coach, “Because it shows you up for what you are trying to do. You want them to memorise a set of traditional swimming procedures invented by dead white European men.”

“Swimming strokes were invented by Europeans?” Mullet was puzzled, “I never knew that.”

“Well, they must have been,” said the coach. “Who else could have done it?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, if I’m honest. So, is that the issue?” asked Mullet. “Is that why you want them to struggle?”

“I don’t think you are listening. Swimming is struggle. Imagine at some point in the future, one of these children is walking past a harbour and sees someone drowning. They will have to figure out what to do for themselves in that situation. Nobody will have taught them this exact scenario. They will need to be able to deal with the struggle they encounter and we need to prepare them for that. If all they do is rote recall procedures, they will just get in the water and swim to the other side, won’t they? Because that’s what they’ve been trained to do. They will swim right past the person drowning and get to the other side and think, ‘Gee, all I can do is get from one side to the other and swimming is about so much more and now a person has died,’ and they would be right.”

“Look, I’m not suggesting anyone can go straight from swimming across a pool to rescuing someone from a harbour,” said Mullet.

“Exactly!” replied the coach, smiling.

“But that’s because there’s a lot of other stuff to learn — How to dive, how to swim in clothes, how to help a drowning person without being pulled under and more. You would need to teach all those things,” said Mullet.

The coach’s face soured. “But you cannot teach a child every possible thing they will ever need to do in any body of water! They would have to visit all the water everywhere and do all the things.”

“But by teaching them a range of techniques, you can better prepare them for many different situations.”

The coach huffed. “You just want them to rote memorise procedures to get from one side of a pool to another.”

“That’s the opposite of what I said.”

“I know what you meant. You want to wring all the joy out of being in the water — the beauty of a swim across the beach at dawn, the joy of a closely matched game of water polo, doing the first third of a triathlon with your buddies from school — like you’re wringing the water out of a pair of budgie smugglers. You are an extremist. You are heartless and you want children to hate swimming. Shame on you!”

And at that, the coach turned away from Mullet and pointed at one of the terrified children, clinging for dear life to the back wall. “In you go!” he sang, a rictus grin across his face.

The child shivered.