FEAR IN THE HEART OF A GRANDMOTHER

by Danna Shirley

            When I discovered a park behind our city hall with a pond hosting ducks and geese, I thought it would be a wonderful place to take my granddaughter, Emma. She was two and a very curious, wide-eyed, and busy little lady. Having raised three children of my own, I was not concerned that I couldn’t watch over Emma. I picked her up from daycare and excitedly announced, “We’re going to the park and feed the ducks. Won’t that be fun?” She beamed.

            As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw the beautiful rolling landscape and the arched bridge over the pond. I got Emma out of the car and the bag of stale bread I had brought with me and we were off for our adventure. I was still not concerned about watching Emma; after all, my three children were still alive and kicking. J

            We romped over the bridge and through the shrubbery to find a spot where two geese and three goslings were waddling around, apparently undisturbed by their intruders. I had my trusty camera on the ready for that award-winning picture of Emma feeding them. They did not cooperate.

            I finally said, “Emma, break off a piece and throw it out there for them to eat.” She did but the geese did not. We walked a little closer throwing bits of bread along our path. The geese ate a few here and there but they weren’t much interested in our stale crumbs.

            As I watched the scene unfold before my eyes, I wasn’t prepared to see Emma follow a goose down to the water. I yelled, “Emma . . . don’t . . . get . . . too . . . close . . . to . . .”  
            The next thing I knew she was going head first . . . plop!!!  into the water as she reached out to pet a goose. I broke three nails as I scrambled to the pond and jumped in. I reached for the white shirt she was wearing and lifted her out of the murky mire. I can’t swim and I don’t know what I thought I was going to do but I guess that’s when your instincts kick in and not your safety. Although I discovered the water was only chest high and I could stand up, it still could have been over my head. I didn’t know who would need rescuing more, Emma or me.                           
            When I lifted her onto shore, she spit and sputtered and blinked her ‘sparkly blues’. She was a little pouty but if I could have freaked out, I would have. Nevertheless, I held my composure and asked, “Emma, are you OK?” She nodded in the affirmative. “Emma, was that fun?” She shook her head in the negative.

            I don’t know how many people were observing this episode but only one finally came over and asked if we were alright. I shook my head ‘no’ and climbed out of the pond. I handed them the remainder of our bread and we both shuffled off dripping all the way. Crossing the bridge was another obstacle, for our shoes were wet and it was difficult to get any traction on the incline. 

            The only thing I had in the car to protect the seats from our wet clothing was Emma’s jacket and one small afghan that my mother had crocheted. Emma got the jacket, I got the afghan, and we gladly retreated from our adventure. I called my daughter on my cell phone to prepare her for our arrival and to make my confession. By this time I was shaking and my thoughts were filled with fear at what could have happened had that pond been over my head.

            My daughter greeted us in her driveway. Kristen got Emma out of the car and shooed her into the house to her daddy. I got out and came around to tell my daughter again how sorry I was that I had let Emma get away from me. Our roles were finally reversed as my daughter, with my head on her shoulder, hugged me and patted my back and told me it would be OK. I returned home with much thanks in my heart that our adventure had only been dampened . . . just a little!