Thank Heaven for Wet Rats
“Like a wet rat”. That’s the part of the story that he stressed. “Like a wet rat, that’s what she looked like when I pulled her out of the water. I didn’t even see her fall it, I just saw her under the surface, and when I pulled her out, she looked like a wet rat”. It was years later, sitting on his swing, that he told me the rest of the story of when I was a toddler and had fallen off a dock full of people, into our lake, unnoticed. “No one has ever scared me as much as you did that day. I kept you close to me, from then on.” He taught me. I can stack wood like a pro. It was a weekly chore for my brother Rick and I (Mark used to go hide in the basement---rotten kid). When I was older, I learned to split the wood, with both an ax and a long splitter. Earning the right to use the chainsaw was a badge of honor. I can distinctly picture his face, when he finally let me use it. I can change the oil in my car and properly hammer a nail, all because of him. My dad