
Family, loss and near drownings
When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I nearly drowned in the Illinois River. Our family — Mom, Dad, me and various assortments of my siblings and their children — often visited the river. Those days were filled with laughter as we gathered around dad’s rarely exposed, pale legs. Untold hours were spent dunking ourselves in the cool river water to hide from biting flies and mosquitoes. And mom pacing a worried trench in the bank. That day I wanted to follow my older brothers and father across the water to the other bank. Most of the river was shallow where we played, more like a babbling brook as it tumbled over and between the rounded rocks of its bed. Only about a two-foot stretch existed where the…