The Chief was stationed on the Diving Barge, a repair facility in San Diego that was towed from ship to ship and its divers would effect hull repairs while the ships were in port. It was a great job for him because it meant he got to dive almost daily. Most of his assignments had allowed him to dive periodically but kept him busy in other ways most of the time. He had one of his buddies take a picture of him sitting in his dive-suit with his hard hat on his lap. He was proud of that photo because it was the only one he had at that time. I thought it was pretty cool, too. I wanted to take the picture to school for "Show and Tell". He was reluctant but allowed it only on condition of a "Pinkie Promise" to bring it home in one piece...pinkie promises are absolutely binding and there is no wiggle room. I locked pinkies with him and made the promise. Well, what do you expect of an eight-year old?

I took it to school and showed it around during show-and-tell, complete with involved stories about diving and all the dangers thereof. I was especially fond of relating the story of what happens to a diver if his air line gets cut and his suit deflates! The Chief told me it happened to a diver he knew and when they got him back aboard the ship, the diver and his suit and everything were jammed up into the helmet. Just two big lead boots sticking out the bottom! (When I got older I just assumed it was a "Sea Story" but recently Mythbusters tackled it and it was true...mostly). I was feeling pretty special. I was a new kid in school and I had made a mark. At recess I continued to entertain fans who wanted to get another look. One not-so-admiring fan was an older, much larger kid, a kid who wanted to keep my treasure. He snatched it out of my hand and laughed at me. I was mortified. This guy was way out of my weight class and honestly, I was scared to death of him. I begged, made a grab for the picture, cried, begged some more and cried some more. I realized that I was destroying my cool image; I was crying in front of everybody, begging like a baby. The bully pushed me away and laughed some more, mocking my tears. I went after him again and got a hand on the picture, only to be knocked to the ground. I suddenly realized I was more afraid of the Chief than I was of the bully. I made a lucky lunge that resulted in a tackle and we both wound up on the ground.

You know, if you watch sports you know that the aggressor hardly ever gets called for the foul; it is usually the one who responds to the aggression. A teacher on the playground saw nothing of the bully's actions but spotted me tackling and flailing away at him. I was pulled off of him (this probably saved my life) and in the sorting out of the whole thing, I was given back the picture. It had gotten crumpled...in an age before computers, it was folded, spindled and mutilated. I looked at it and couldn't believe the mess it was in. You've heard of having a "heavy heart"? That is the only way to describe the way I felt. I had gotten in trouble for fighting and notes were flying about my misbehavior. Worse, I had let the Chief down; I had broken a pinkie promise and I felt more pain than I had ever felt in my life. There was no way to console me. I had been humiliated in front of all my classmates, practically the whole school. I just wanted to find a hole to crawl into and pull it in behind me.

By the time I got home, my Mom, Betty Lou, had already talked to the Principal, my teacher, and her old third-grade teacher who was still there after so many years, and they had been more than fair relating what had happened; but I was still in trouble for fighting. We didn't talk much. She looked at the picture and said it didn't look so bad. But it did. When the Chief got home, I told him every single detail of exactly what had happened. He looked at the picture and agreed with me: it was pretty well screwed up. He told me how disappointed he was and asked me what I could have done to better safeguard the photo. But he told me he was proud of me for standing up to the bully and getting the picture back. He wasn't mad at me for fighting; he always approved of putting a bully in his place. He flattened out the picture and took it to the bedroom and I never saw it again until I noticed it in the anchor frame.

I remembered that feeling of heaviness for a long time. I never wanted to disappoint the Chief again. It would be a great story if I could say I never did...but I know I did on many other occasions. There were times when he wasn't so "understanding" of my foolishness, either. But finding that picture prominently displayed in his little office was a reminder to me that despite the disappointments and foolishness and follies of a lifetime, it was like hearing him say, "I still love you, Jimmy".

A better picture.