One summer day more than 20 years ago our doorbell rang. I answered it to find a boy who appeared to be about 8 years old. He had a big grin on his face and expressive eyes.
“Hi,” he said. “Can I go swimming in your pool?”
Word had apparently spread that I love the sound of kids splashing around. Our daughter had recently turned 3 and a couple of adorable elementary-age girls from neighboring homes had sort of adopted her—and our ’50s vintage diving board.
Standing with him at the door, I thought it wise to take care of introductions. He told me his name was Russell and that he and his family had just moved in down the street. I asked him to let his mother know that I’d like to meet her and get the maternal OK for his plan before he dived in. He agreed and headed home.