Nature's Swim Lessons

My job sometimes wears on me. The things I'm asked to do for people--the trust given. It can be overwhelming at times--everyone in need of something. Lawyers have become the priests of the 21st century. People come to us to confess and to find relief. Sometimes it seems like too much.

And then there are days....like yesterday.

I get a call from a defense attorney for a railroad company. The railroad company is replacing a bridge over a local bayou. I'm on (yet another) board--an environmental group founded by R. Kennedy Jr. We don't like the fact that the company is proposing to leave the 40 year old creosote pilings in the mud. The company ignores our letters so...we...file...a...(wait for it)...lawsuit. Now I have the Short Line Railroad's attorney calling me. Apparently our request for subpoenas from DEP has stirred someone.

"We will remove the pilings." He says. I'm e-mailing our proposed agreement.

The Short Line is agreeing to remove all the pilings, even the ones from previous bridges possibly going back as far as the 1880s. This is a huge win.

And so I drive home feeling like I've affected the world in a positive way today. As I'm pulling in, I see the Booglet and her Mother heading toward the bay. The Booglet turns to me and waves--even through the car I hear her squeal, "Daddy!" It's the best sound in the world. It's why I like spitting at big companies trying to cut corners with the public's inheritance. She's picking (and eating) blackberries on her way to the bay. It's good to see her back to normal.

I promise to return in my new red swim suit Mommy got. Promises to little girls are never to be broken. Not by me sweetheart--not today.

We're down at the bay. The south wind is sending easy rollers in as we splash out "deep." We spin around in the water, the little one is laughing, I'm smiling, Mommy's watching (regretting she doesn't have the camera). Don't worry my sweet Calamity Jane--you and I saw her laughing as the last red rays filtered through the pines. We'll remember her laugh, her skinny legs kicking and splashing.

The Booglet gets braver and braver in the water, kneeling till her body is submerged up to her neck in the bay.

I look at her. It's the moment of truth.

"Let's go underwater," I say.

"You go first." She replies. So I do. It's still a little cool but the air is warm. I slip my head beneath the waves.

She's watching when I surface.

"Now you go."

"No you go again," she's smiling. So I do it again, pinching my nose closed and laying back, letting the cool bay wash over me. I surface. She's still watching.

And the rogue wave hits. I'm two feet from her, a former lifeguard, and I watch her lose her balance and slip under. I reach out and grab her, pulling her back up. She's scared and exhilarated. I choose the latter.

"You did it! You went under!" She's looking at me, her eyes wide with fear. But there's something else there too--something wonderful. She didn't want to do it--she wasn't going to go under. But nature, in its own unique way, threw her into the mix.

I look straight into her big brown eyes, "When you go under," I said, "close your eyes and hold your nose." I'm smiling at her wet face, wiping the droplets from her eyes. I'm very close to her, "I'm so proud of you."

Later, after dinner, I think it's good advice for myself, or for anyone who gets overwhelmed by the daily dunkings.

When you go under, close your eyes and hold your nose.

And you'll be fine. You can do it. I'm so proud of you.