Dave Needs a Job

When I was the summer camp director at the YWCA, we took the kids swimming twice a week.

 

On the first day of swimming -- the second day of camp -- the lifeguard went over the rules with the kids.  The lifeguard was very experienced so I had nothing to worry about with him on duty.

 

After his presentation, he grabbed a flotation device that was essentially a little foam backpack that coud support 50 or 60 pounds.  We called them floaties.  He strapped one to this little kid named John (the same one that got clobbered by the kickball) and hurled the kid up in the air and into the deep end.

 

The kid cried and frantically flailed in the water until he reached the wall and got out of the pool.  Will, one of the counselors, and I laughed.

 

The next day John's dad asked to speak with me when he dropped him off.  John's dad, also named John, was polite but wanted to get the story behind his son "being thrown into the deep end" and "almost drowning."

 

I explained what happened and that John had spent the entire time in the deep end with me, Will and the other kids that were much better swimmers than John.

 

"He didn't tell me that," John Sr. said, not in the least bit upset about what happened.  John Jr. was embarrassed.

 

I found out three years later that John Sr. is related to my cousin.