walk on water

So it's like this:

We're out swimming. It's a clear day. The blue sky mirrors the blue walls of our circular, above-ground pool. It's as hot as it gets in Michigan, maybe 90 degrees. Naturally, as a ten-year-old kid out on summer break, I spend every waking moment splashing about the cool, filtered water.

It's my haven.

A wind picks up, scattering leaves over the surface. I close my eyes, enjoying the shade from our massive, weeping willow, listening as its branches sway on the breeze.

There's a break in the calm - quite literally, as one of my siblings crashes to the ground just outside. They come up, clutching a bundle of willow branches, grinning, ear to ear.

"Man...did you guys see? That was so close."

This isn't the first time one of us has tried using the willow's dangling limbs to vault into the pool. I know it wasn't close but clap encouragingly.

Someone else opts simply to launch themselves over the pool's four-foot siding. That starts us all on a tangent. We clamber out to the yard and begin jumping over the rim, competing to see who can dive the farthest.

Another of my siblings tries to start a whirlpool. We all join in excitedly, pumping our arms as we trudge the outer rim. It's only the five of us so we're barely able to make even the slightest current. But we still give it our all, as kids do.

Eventually, I hit my limit. Kicking back in the water, I let the gentle current carry me, ignoring my siblings' continued antics. Other sounds filter through as white noise in the background. Chickens from our tiny coop squawking contentedly. Cars roaring down the distant highway.

A car horn blaring through our backyard.

We all look up at that, turning toward the source of this disturbance.

It's Dad. A very typical entrance for him - somehow totally unexpected, yet totally in character - as he pulls his truck through the grass, parking it with the truck bed facing the pool's inflated rim.

A makeshift diving board.

My siblings and I are immediately ecstatic, clambering over one another to claim a spot at this novel attraction.

"Hold up," Dad calls. He emerges with a camera and yet another twist. "Today, we'll be making history."

My older brother takes on the role of cameraman as the rest of us situate about the pool's rim. We don't have to be told our part - we're the most excited an audience can be.

Dad climbs into the truck bed, swim trunks and all, and commentates a dramatic narrative. "Today, we're going to be walking on water."

He dons a pair of water-proof shoes, explaining with all the professional airs of a seasoned reporter: "Recently, you may have seen videos circulating online of people engaging in this new sport. Today, we're here to prove that it can in fact be done."

That playful confidence of his remains as believable as ever. He has us convinced. We lapse into hushed anticipation as Dad readies himself. The wind itself seems to go still. All breaths hold as he crouches like an Olympic runner at the back of the truck, then initiates a running start.

I swear he made it a couple steps.

The eventual splash is tremendous. We all erupt into laughter. Dad plows on, unperturbed. He reaches the ladder, pops a thumbs-up at the camera, and without hesitation declares, "There you have it, folks. That's how we walk on water."

We spend the rest of the night in a giddy daze of cannonballs and mock water-runs - the perfect summer evening.