Swimming With the Fishes

If I lose any more years off of my life I’ll have been dead since 1986.

Zane found his way out of my in-law’s home. He found his way to the fishpond.

I wasn’t there. I was at home cursing Drew Brees and the damnation he had thrown upon my Fantasy Football team.

Tricia was talking with her parents. Atticus was sitting in the living room staring at the babysitter. I think it was Dragon Tales.

Zane, not one to sit still, found a way out, and he took it.

Tricia realized he was gone and ran straight for the pond. He was in it, and he was seconds away from something bad. She said he was gasping and coughing and trying to regain his balance in two-feet of water and moss-covered rocks.

She ran. He coughed. She jumped. He gasped. She had him. He cried.

They cried.

Her leg took a beating, covered in blood and bruises from falling against the rocks, but it was a small price to pay.

Things could have been very different in our lives this morning. The thought gives me chills.

I was upset. I was worried. We watched him all night to make sure some secret remnant of the evening hadn’t lodged itself in wait for us to turn our backs.

However, I was not mad. How could I be? How many times has my heart dropped because Atticus took a step away from me in a parking lot or Zane found ways to scale to heights he shouldn’t?

It happens.

I suppose this is why you never see a relaxed parent.

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