The Mechanics of Love
By Emery C. Walters
This whole problem started way back when I was fourteen. That summer, as soon as school let out, I joined the swim team. We practiced at the pool near us, and I could ride my bike to it. Dad had told me I had to pick a sport, and it was either this or summer football prep. Not much of a choice, really, the way I’m built. I enjoyed the practices; I didn’t even mind getting up early to be there by five or six o’clock. It was a lot of fun, actually.
Until the first real swim meet. Now, I knew my proud dad would be in the stands with his camera set on video, because this is what he’d done at all of my old brother Wayne’s sports. Yelling Go! like a maniac and stomping his feet when Wayne didn’t do well. I knew it would be embarrassing, but everyone’s
