It was the spring of 1993. My daughter, Hannah, stood on the starting block. She was five years old—one of the youngest and tiniest members of the Bluewater Bay Barracudas, a community swim team in Niceville, Florida.
She was racing her very first event: the 25-meter freestyle—one full length of the pool.
Hannah was in lane six, the slowest lane of the slowest heat in the 8-and-under girls’ freestyle. The girls in lanes one through five were easily a head taller and a year or two older. Her blue one-piece swimsuit hung loosely on her small frame, at least a size too big. A blue swim cap was pulled low over her ears.
The gun sounded.
Bang!
She plopped into the water with a splash and something resembling a forward dive, then began stroking as hard as she could. I walked along the pool deck, cheering her on.
By the time Hannah reached the backstroke flags, her competitors were already climbing out of the pool. As she stroked the final meters, the crowd erupted in cheers. By then, she had the pool entirely to herself.
She tagged the wall, and I reached down to pull her up onto the deck, congratulating her on finishing her first race. The cheering continued.
“Did I win, Daddy? Did I win?” she asked, wiping water from her eyes with a towel.
“No, honey, you didn’t win—but you did come in sixth place.”
Hannah began to celebrate.
“I came in sixth place! Yay!”
Then, pausing mid-cheer, she looked up at me.
“Daddy, that’s good… right?”
“Oh yes! Hannah, you did great!”
Still celebrating, she suddenly stopped. Her expression shifted as she began to count the buoyed lanes of the pool—small, wet fingers pointing as she mouthed the numbers silently.
“One… two… three… four… five… six.”
Her face moved from joy to concentration, then to dawning realization—and finally to anguish.
“Oh, Daddy,” she said softly. “I lost. I came in last.”
She collapsed into my arms, sobbing.
Holding her wet little self, I whispered, “Yes, Hannah, you came in last—but you did a great job. You swam the entire length of the pool. And in your next race, you’ll do even better.”
And she did.
Dash Stories 