by ARTHUR R. LEE
When I was about 10 years old, my younger brother and I were invited for a picnic with our neighbors. We lived in Honolulu a few houses down the street from the Osborn family. Their children, Buddy, age 10, and Diane, age 4, were our playmates.
We played at the beach until our lunch of hotdogs and hamburgers was ready. Afterwards, as Mr. and Mrs. Osborn relaxed in the sun, I decided to take a short walk, exploring a nearby creek that ran into the ocean. I was alone, and casually strolled along the bank in silence, nibbling on a few potato chips.
I was headed nowhere in particular, thinking about when my lunch would be safely digested so I might go back into the surf. Then, I just happened to glance down into the creek. To my surprise and horror, I saw my little friend Diane submerged in about five feet of emerald green water. She wore a white sun suit and was lying on the sandy creek bottom. Her little round face was white. Her wide-set blue eyes stared blankly up at me as her long brown hair undulated gently in the current.
I immediately jumped in the creek and swam down, grabbed her by the sun suit and pulled her to the surface. Her little arms desperately flailed the water as she choked and gasped for air. To my immense relief, she began to cry.
Her little round face was white. Her wide-set blue eyes stared blankly up at me as her long brown hair undulated gently in the current.
Hand-in-hand, we walked back down the beach to where her parents frantically searched for their daughter. “Here she is!” I yelled, “She was in the creek.” In tears, the mother embraced her child and thanked me.
To this day, nearly seven decades later, I don’t think Mrs. Osborn knew how close her daughter came to death. I also believe God sent me along that creek bank at that precise time to lend a saving hand.
ARTHUR R. LEE is a freelance writer from California.