When I was ten years old, summer meant swimming in the local public pool.

We were in the middle of the Midwest, and summers were long, hot, drawn out affairs. The pool was within walking distance of our house, and a summer pass was purchased for each of us three children for a nominal fee.

With my towel slung over my shoulder, I walked alone to the pool. This was the 1970’s, and we walked alone often, as long as it was still daylight out.

I stepped carefully into the pool, beginning my “doggy paddle around the perimeter” routine. I hated getting my face wet (still do), so I’d vacillate between doggy paddles, or sliding onto my back, arms outstretched, for a few minutes of floating.

Once in my back, I noticed the angry grey clouds that had suddenly rushed into the hot summer sky above me. Grimacing, I made my way to the pool edge, trying to squint hard enough to make the clouds go away.

Within minutes a loud, piercing lifeguard’s whistle blasted me to attention, followed by an announcement that the pool was closing. Almost immediately, a crack of lightening startled all the swimmers, who got out of the water in record time.

Wrapped in my towel, I slid my feet into my soft rubbery flip flops, and started walking home as fast as my legs would let me.

Soon, the lightening increased – and the accompanying thunder grew ominous as it roared it’s response in less than two minutes.

I was in a panic! I was far from home, but had no access to a phone. The lightning was searing bright against the cobalt clouds, and I was a wet target. I was sure I was doomed. My pulse drummed frantically in my ears as I looked for safety.

I glanced up, and saw a truck in the school parking lot to my left. Immediately every warning about getting into cars with strangers was playing in a continuous loop in my head, even as the thunder moved ominously closer in claps and booms.

I thought it out. It was a delivery or repair truck of some sort – there were no front doors, and there was a long leather bench to sit on. The driver was old, and didn’t look dangerous. The thoughts of a naive child!

I decided if I asked for a ride, I could always jump out. I’d sit on the edge. By this time I was certain there was a lightning bolt seeking out a sopping wet little girl, and I had to choose which scenario was more dangerous.

I ran, feet flapping, up to the truck, and panting from fear, I asked them man if he would drive me home. He agreed, and I got up on the cracked leather seat, one half of my body and leg hanging out of the truck.

I don’t remember if there was small talk – I do remember clinging to the metal side of the truck as if my life depended on it. As the driver pulled up to my house, I muttered a muffled thanks, running in the front door, slamming it behind me, leaving the summer hazards outside.

Or so I thought.

My mother asked me how I got home. I couldn’t figure out how she knew, but mother’s know these things. “I got a ride…” I began to try and explain, and my mothers face twisted into an expression of fear and horror. She began to verbalize the stranger danger speech, and sent me to my room, grounded.

As I flopped on my bed, all I could think about was the certain death I had faced. I took a chance, and I had survived.

But for the rest of that summer, going to the pool was never the same.