It was Father's Day a few years ago. I just got home from work (yes, a Sunday) and I was very tired. My kids wanted to walk the quarter mile down to the boat launch on the river we live along. As they headed out, I felt very compelled to go with them despite being very tired so I jogged to catch up and we made our way to the boat launch. Maybe it was just because it was Father's Day and I felt I should be with my kids or I'd regret it later "Cat's In The Cradle" style. But I felt like I really needed to be with them.
So we get down to the water, throw some rocks in, talk, wade up to our knees, etc. And then three big kids, like 20 or 21 year old guys, zip up in their huge pick up truck with the Oakley and Monster stickers all over it and their mook caps. They seem loud and profane and inebriated and they decide to swim across the river to the sand bar on the other side. This river is about 120 meters across at this spot and damn fast. One of the guys makes it across but the other two are having trouble. One of the two having trouble turns and comes back to the original side, gasping and coughing from exhaustion. The other one is still about 50 meters out, trying to get back and he starts softly saying, "help". I'd been a lifeguard for 5 years back in college and I knew this was for real. I also knew that the absolute last thing you do to save someone is jump in after them, especially if you have no equipment. Very dangerous. And this kid was bigger than me. But the idea of standing there and watching a young man die in front of my kids, on Father's Day, was unbearable. I swam out and pulled him back to shore. If I had stayed home like I wanted to that day, that kid would have died. Now I make sure I go to that same spot every Father's Day ever since just to mark that amazing day. Sixth sense? I think it was God who pushed me to get off my duff.