Tahoe Two

When I was five, I broke my right arm playing rocket rides on our front lawn in San Jose, CA with my siblings and some neighbor friends. 

Six weeks in a cast later, we found out my arm didn't heal properly; the doctor had to break it again and reset it. 

I vividly remember lying on a hospital bed, looking at my sleeping arm as it lied on a pillow next to me. It was as if my arm wasn't my arm. The doctor came in. I watched him take the arm and break it. I was six more weeks in a cast. 

 My family and I went to Lake Tahoe that year. 

That was back in the day when you couldn't get your cast wet or it would disintegrate and smell worse than it was already disintegrating and smelling. My mom put a plastic bag over my cast so I could at least wade into the clear water. 

I was jealous of my siblings splashing and playing in the lake. Since I couldn't swim, I stared at the light, the water, and the beautiful pebbles and wished I could be under the water with them. I can still see that image. 

Today, the water didn't look as clear or as clean as I remember, but it was fun to think about how I visited this place 42 years ago, about how many other bones I've broken, and about how much more of life has happened since then.