My daughter taught a private lesson today. She was standing in for another teacher who was sick. The lifeguard warned her that they were beginners. She expected this to mean that they had some swim skill, but after observing them, my daughter knew these kids couldn’t swim at all.

They were a family of African children, ages 7, 9, and 11. My daughter encouraged the young swimmers to use kickboards, showed them proper form and helped them by holding up their legs. By the end of the lesson, the oldest, a boy, was kicking independently. She cheered for him, and their mother told my daughter she hoped to see her next week.

The lesson reminded me of the things I read about closing the swimming gap between blacks and whites. Most articles tap dance around the subject of black swim teachers. Maybe because since the drowning rate is generational, black swim teachers are uncommon.

But Cullen Jones is going all over the country getting in the pool with youngsters, encouraging them to swim.

And now my daughter, who once quit swimming because of hair (or so I thought) is now happy to share what she learned with other young black people.

I thought back to her long rough road to learn to swim. The teacher she had when it really clicked for her? Black. I hadn’t thought of that before. I remember the young man with the bleached out afro who either just happened to be there when everything came together for my daughter to get it, or who actually pushed her over the hump.

The way she grumbled about his coaching, it was probably the latter.