There were about what seemed one hundred steps up to the top of the water slide that hot summer day, one after the other, wet from the feet and bodies that had ascended before. In front of him was the child of his heart, his son, excited and oh so small (all of four) climbing the cement steps behind his grandfather. Here they were, the three of them, a black man in his late sixties, a child of mixed race, and the younger white man following. Grandfather, grandson and son-in-law. At the top, the boy prepared to launch himself over the edge, down the stream of water to the pool below, behind his grandfather, before his father. Who could have guessed that at the bottom of the slide, once they all reached the pool, that from that moment onward their worlds would change forever. One would die. One would break and cry. One would remember that day with the greatest fondness, wondering why time is such an elusive thing, why time can be so cruel.

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