Swimming With Sharks

Shouting.

All I heard were wife’s shouts to me. At me. For me. She was pointing at something to my right, and I looked.

A flying fish, jumping over and over.

“Fascinating,” I thought.

The shouts continued.

At the beach, I am always concerned for daughter’s life. Keeping her safe. Protecting her.

But me? There is not much concerning to me. I can take care of myself.

After a few more shouts, I knew wife thought there was a shark, but I knew these were flying fish. And they were.

An umpire in baseball always knows what happened better than the coach in the dugout or the player across the field. Standing close to the action, you have a much better perspective.

This was the same thing. I was closer, and I knew what it was.

Heart racing. Head spinning. What would I miss in my life? Wife’s life? Daughter’s life? I can’t even think straight. The only thing I can comprehend is “life flashing before my eyes.” My mind is running out of control.

She kept shouting and pointing. I started walking in to the shore, knowing these were flying fish. I made a flying motion with my arm. “It’s ok,” I mouthed to shore.

Except it wasn’t.

Suddenly, I knew.

A few steps toward the shore, a wave crashes and I look to my right. Twenty feet to my right are two fins, moving swiftly out to sea.

My heart stops. My feet jump and I might have walked on water getting to shore. I have never run so fast in my life, and I made the high school baseball team for my speed.

The flashback takes my breath away, trying to comprehend the experience. I stood high on the sand, far from the water, for a long time. Not moving, not talking, eyes scanning the water back and forth.

Too close.

To my wife: sorry for the scare. Thanks for saving my life!