When I was five, I went to Newport Beach with my family. My brother and I waded into the surf with my parents sitting nearby on a picnic blanket. Although the memory of the day in terms of detail is dim, I recall a basket of fried chicken and a bottle of coke.
We were warned that although we could gather water in our buckets to help create sand castles, we were not to get too close as neither of us were particularly gifted swimmers. That is sill true today. Want a laugh? Watch my brother’s dog paddle and my feeble front crawl.
As I leaned forward with my green plastic bucket and red spade, the surf knocked me over and sucked me into the Pacific. I turned over and over as my arms flailed around me. I felt a sudden despair as I let go of my bucket and spade and tried to reach for the sky. Sandy water filled my mouth and that desperate claustrophobic feeling hit me.
A pair of huge hands reached in and pulled me out as I sputtered out sand and cried while rubbing my eyes. Dad, having spotted the incident was no more than a few seconds behind me, but those moments in the water were enough to give me a fear of drowning from which I have never quite recovered.
I’ve recently rejoined the gym and they have a pretty decent pool. I’ll be doing a few laps before work on Tuesday, I’m just making sure the dingy is nearby.
Today’s Prompt: Fears and Phobias
Usual rules, 500 words and think about what scares you.