When I was a little girl growing up in Florida, my dad would often take my sister and I out on a boat to go snorkeling. One sunny Saturday afternoon, my dad explained that we were going to do something different—he was going to teach us how to catch lobster. He would find and capture the lobsters, and I would hold the net containing the stalk-eyed ocean creatures that would serve as our dinner. After my dad declared that we were “ready,” I jumped into the water, equipped with my snorkel gear and net.
In a short time, my dad caught a few lobsters and put them in my net. I began to think that this was a fun way to spend the afternoon. About an hour into our hunt, however, something unexpected happened. My dad dove down and put both of his hands under a large rock. Suddenly, from underneath the rock, a nurse shark swam—directly into my net with the lobsters. I felt the shark’s rough skin on my leg, and I looked over to see it thrashing around in my net! I screamed at the top of my lungs, immediately dropped the net, and swam in a Michael Phelps-like manner over to my dad. Without delay, I stood up on his back as if he was a surfboard, in an effort to get further away from the shark. After my dad was able to pull me off his back, he asked, with no regard to my distressed estate, “Did you let the lobsters go?”
Read the rest of this guest post at Revive Our Hearts.