I ran into one of my neighbors while I was walking the dogs the other evening. I asked Laura if I hadn’t seen her husband, Patrick, limping into the house earlier. (I was in my front yard with our dogs. They live several doors down the street – close enough to see, but too far away to interact.) She said “yes” and told me a story that is worth repeating.
The previous weekend, they had taken their three young daughters on their boat to one of the local barrier islands for an afternoon of “beaching.” After they were on the beach for awhile, the tides and currents required Patrick to reset the anchor lines on his boat. He went out to the boat. The water was apparently around 5-6 feet deep at end of the boat closest to the beach. He climbed onto the boat and set the lines. He then went to the end of the boat away from the beach and jumped into the water, thinking it was at least as deep as it was on the shore-side. Much to his surprise and pain, there was an unseen sandbar there. He landed in water less than knee deep. The pain in his leg was his broken ankle.
We commiserated for a few minutes, and then Laura said something that stuck with me.
“I’m just glad he didn’t DIVE in.”