When I was a boy of seven, we
visited friends of my parents who had membership in a club that had a
pool. Both families descended on that
pool one very hot summer evening, and as happens we all wander off with
adequate warnings to stay out of the deep end; reason being none of us kids
knew how to swim. So I’d crawl along the
edges of the pool hanging on to the cement sides until I’d get to the place
where standing on my tiptoes was the only way to keep my nose above water. Then I’d reverse my travel back the way I
came and venture to the limits on the other side. While at one extreme, I stood
by the filtrations outlet that blew back into the pool. Being slight of build I
lost hold and was blown gently into the deeper section that was well over my
head.
I can still recall my
panic, extended arms upward I could not think of what else to do. Just as I was
about to loose hope, my breath spent, my father plucked me up into his
arms. I sputtered, gasped and yes, cried
in relief. He was joking with me and
teasing me for my fright, as well as lightly scolding me for not being more
careful.
I forgot that terror as the
years passed my attention. Then one
summer visiting my parents I had my own son with me. They had a pool put in for the grand children
to play in when visiting. On that day,
my sister’s kids were there along with Luke all splashing about. Luke was all of five, and securely riding a
floating raft. As we adults talked about
life events, childish antics reined, and Luke had been dislodged from the
raft. To this day, twenty years later, I
can still see in my mind vividly the panic on his face as he stood on tiptoes
trying to keep his face above water. My
sisters tell me that I had leaped over the four-foot stand and was in the water
before alarm could be made.
I pulled my
son to me with such terror invoked strength, from certain danger and placated
his gasping and fearful tears. I guess
we each have those moments where we’re rescued without asking- by a fathers
loving attention ~ that never stops.


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