hero

There, Friedrich, do you see him? A boy! In the river! He's drowning, please do something! Anything, you must.

I can't do anything. The actualization of me saving the young lad has barreled upon me and there is utmost nothing that I can sufficiently do to save him. Oh god! This is uncanny and ghastly. I vomit in my undercoat. That's it! Just give me more time, dear lord. I take off my jacket and my undercoat and my shirt and I tie all the lengths of the sleeves together. Here, hold this, I yell at the boy, but the undercurrent has captured him vilely. I throw the material in the water and hope he grabs hold of it like a fish catching a nymph. He battles the current and throws up a out reached hand. Boy! And he grabs it, like a dog shaking off water. I pull him in and he coughs up some water as I put pressure on his chest. Palpating his chest to gauge the water out. The young boy is saved.

That was the day your old grandfather Friedrich was a hero. Do you remember, Anny?

Anny nods her head to all seven of my grandchildren. The kids look at me and relish the moment.

I am once again a hero in their minds.

Friedrich died in his sleep that night.