All Ashore With My Dad by Will Mayo

Too, I remember how it was 50 summers ago when my father and I were out on the ocean, him on his float, me on mine.

"Whatever you do," he said, "don't let go."

And, wouldn't you know it, the first thing I did immediately afterwards was to let go of his float and tumble straightaways into the sea. I bobbed up and I bobbed down. I gulped water and air interminably and though it must have only been seconds it seemed as if hours were in passage.

Finally, I felt my father's strong right arm as he encircled me and hauled me to shore. "You saved my life!" I kept saying, "You saved my life!" "Don't I know it," he said.

Then he turned his head and said, "Don't step on that firecracker."

I looked down and immediately stepped aside from some red hot missile left over from some festivities the night before. "Oh, thanks," I said.

Days like this would prove all too typical for my father and me.