My Grandfather Was a Hero to Everyone But Me
My grandfather saved another family’s kid, but he scapegoated me.
I thought it was just a game. I had never seen someone dying before.
He was eight years old. I was nine. He was in the pool in my parents’ backyard. His parents were watching him die. They were doing nothing.
I was a few feet away. I was probably traumatized. I am probably traumatized. We have never talked about it since. No one ever talked about it with me. I was really not an important part of the story, I guess. To them.
This kid could not swim. Why his parents decided it was a good idea to allow their kid who could not swim to, you know, go swimming, is beyond me. I mean, they put on his swimming trunks. They watched him walk down the steps of the pool into the water. What was on their minds?
I have so many questions, looking back. How drunk were they? What was going on there? Were my parents swingers or something, was that why all the adults looked so distracted? Just what the hell was going on?
Did they just assume that I, not even an adolescent, would keep an eye on their kid and somehow use my feminine intuition to save his life if need be? Why are parents such idiots when it comes to basic child safety?
