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The Secret Defiance of a Compliant Child
A single act of defiance almost resulted in my death, and changed me forever.
I’ve never admitted to anyone that the incident that almost took my life, at age six, was no accident.
Not until today.
My grandparents lived on a farm in the middle of the parched, bone-dry prairies. Their only source of water came from a cistern, a concrete cylinder buried in their front yard.
During one of our visits, I was outside playing while my mother and grandparents were in the house. My mom, a strict, no-nonsense woman who demanded obedience, had warned me to stay away from the cistern, which was covered only with a thin plywood lid.
A shy, introverted, and extremely compliant child, I followed her rules without question.
And then I didn’t.
The cistern was fifteen feet deep, built to store fresh water. The walls were straight and smooth except for a small intake pipe, which protruded about six inches from the inside, located half way down. The opening to the cistern was about a foot off the ground and covered with a lid constructed of planks of aging wood.
