On a long ride around Happy Valley Road, my friend and I decided to pause from peddling in the hot summer sun and explore a creek a few miles from home. I’ve always loved creeks, the sound of water pouring over shiny rocks which always look jeweled when wet. I love the branches of trees that overhang the small pools where I found minnows.
One day, I saw a body lying in the middle of the creek. Water swirled around the man-sized form covered by a long coat. A brimmed hat had lodged in a branch further downstream. Heart pounding, I clambered out of the creek and up the bank, through the trees where my younger friend who was still trying to make her way down. When I told her what I saw, we both fled. Jumping on our bikes we raced for home. She turned off to her house, and I peddled into our long gravel drive, skidded to a stop, dumped my bike, and ran into the house.
Dad was home. “What’s wrong?” When I told him, he asked where and if I was sure. Oh, yes, I was sure. From the look on my pale, sweating face, he was convinced. He asked me for specific directions. Since he was a deputy sheriff in forensics, he made a call. He headed for his squad car. He didn’t ask me to come with him, and I didn’t ask to go along.
It was well over an hour before he came home and he looked calm. “It wasn’t a body.”
Confused, I protested. “But I saw it! It was right there in the middle of the creek!”
“You saw something that looked like a body, but it wasn’t a body. I’m glad you told me so we could check it out.” Apparently, other police officers had joined Dad to investigate. The body turned out to be a coat over some large rocks that gave it the shape of a body. No hat to be found. Dad said if I saw another body he’d see it for himself first before calling the cavalry. I think they all had a good laugh. They all agreed children’s imaginations can run wild at times.
That’s not just true of children.
Lesson learned: One glance doesn’t show the whole picture any more than a sound bite tells the whole story. It takes time and courage to investigate. But if we don’t, we never know what’s really “in the creek”.