Playing in the Pool

My father had saved me and was holding me in the air by just my arm. My feet continued to kick, this time feeling for the ground instead of the base of the pool. All I succeeded at, however, was kicking drops of water onto the ground and onto my father’s legs. He looked me in the eye, not saying anything, but making it clear that he was both angry and disappointed with me. I stopped kicking.
I was finally dropped onto the hard ground and sat momentarily, water dripping from my hair. My father simply said, “Get your sandals. We’re leaving.” We slowly walked home and this time, he did not hold my hand.

I knew my father was very upset with me. He gave me that look he gives when he is mad. We walked for some distance. I stayed just behind him not saying a single word. I thought about what I had done.

The water felt so good. I knew I could be in big trouble by the time we got down the block to our house. The walk down the few blocks seemed so long. I was hoping that he would understand how a five-year old feels. Just then my father put his hand out for me to grasp and we walked hand-in-hand once again.