a belated father's day post

summer somewhere in texas, and we're on our annual leisure trek, staying at some motel or other.

it's sunny and hot, and we're out by the pool--we lived in the water in those days.  my mom's rubbing oil on my back, my brother's splashing around the shallow end, my dad's in a chaise lounge with the sports section, and my sister--

she had to have been almost four that summer.  just overcoming her fear of the water, she had discovered her ability to float, and, enthralled with this new power, would bob motionlessly around the pool for long stretches of time, gazing skyward, so stable and still that it was easy to forget to watch her.

it was my mother who looked up, dropped the coppertone with a scream, and i whipped my head around to see my little sister's floating body--face down, blond hair fanning out around her little head--bobbing motionlessly in the water.

before i could even move, my father was outta that chair and into the pool so fast he broke a toe on its edge.

and afterwards, when we realized he had merely interrupted my sister's first try at holding her breath, he just laughed with a grimace, and never complained.

he always loved us.  even after what would happen happened, i never had a moment's doubt about that.