My Turn: The 'sword of ice' and the day Dad saved my life

It was a frigid day in late December when Dad announced he was taking me to work with him. I was excited at the prospect of spending the day at Dad’s job since this would be a first. I was about 7, and I felt like such a grown-up girl going to work with Dad. Mom bundled me in my big snow jacket, and off we went.

Dad worked as a real estate salesman for a Massapequa Park model home development. We drove down a tree-lined street filled with large Colonial-style houses. The model house was in a cul-de-sac and backed onto a lake that had frozen over. I saw kids skating on it and was eager to join them — though I didn’t have ice skates.

After hearing my pleas, Dad finally let me go. "Now, be careful," he warned.

I assured him there was nothing to worry about, and off I went to explore this inviting frozen wonderland. I stood on the ice watching kids in skates glide and spin. As I scanned the frozen lake, my eyes fell on what appeared to be a sword of ice standing proudly in the winter sun. For some reason, the kids seemed to stay clear of that part of the lake. My curiosity got the best of me, so I approached this glistening find. It was beautiful, crystal clear with swirls of blue shimmers. This was truly too magnificent to ignore. Since no one else had claimed the "sword," I decided it should be mine. I grasped the hilt and tugged. No movement at all, so I tugged again. It didn’t budge. I was determined to own it, so I clasped the icy blade and yanked.

That’s when I heard it, a crackling under my feet. The ice shattered, and I plunged into the frigid lake. Rushing rivers pulled at me like liquid quicksand. Gasping for air, I screamed, "Help me! Someone please! H-E-L-P!" (Apparently, what I saw as a gleaming sword was a shaft of ice that once disturbed, caused the frozen lake around it to break up.)

I looked up to see an outstretched branch leaning over the lake. I grabbed onto it and held tight. Two ladies hurried over. They tried to get hold of me, but I was just out of reach. Currents tugged at my shoulders, pulling me underwater.

Abruptly, I felt myself in the air, lifted by the collar of my jacket much like a cat lifts its kitten. I sensed that a mighty presence of King Kong proportions had intervened. I blinked wildly trying to focus and there he was, yes, it was Dad. Oh Dad, my hero. He grabbed the back of my jacket and wrenched me from certain death. I’m sure my wet weight made me twice as heavy, but that didn’t deter Dad. I was rising up, still kicking, but free.

Once out of danger, my body violently convulsed. Dad carried me back to the model house and wrapped a blanket around me. Poor Dad, he had been showing the house to a couple when he was interrupted by my frantic screams for help. He apologized to the couple, explaining that he needed to get me home and promising to return within the hour. The couple were sympathetic, telling Dad to take his time and agreeing to return later. Dad carried me to the car, and we zoomed home.

Mom was startled to see me and hear what happened. She peeled away my drenched clothing, dried me and dressed me in flannel pajamas. She gave me warm chicken soup and sent me to bed. That was the first — and only — time Dad took me to work with him.

An epilogue to this event occurred years later when, as an adult, I went to a psychic. She stared at me as if I was a ghost and gravely stated, "You know, you almost died once when you were very little."

"I know," I said.

Barbara Anne Kirshner,

Miller Place