Creek Crossing ( flash non-fiction )

When my family came east from California we stayed for a time with my uncle and his family in West Virginia.  A path from the house to school ended at a creek and picked up again on the other side. I was in the second grade and crossed this creek every day to and from school with my two older brothers and my cousins.  The banks on either side of the creek were the shale typical for this part of coal mining country.  Between those two points the creek was crossed on large flat rocks seemingly chucked into place from either side.  The dirty water of the creek slipped, slid, spun around and washed over the wet and mossy tops like turtles haphazardly lined up on a log.  I've been told that I fell in more than once.  In defense of my agile youthfulness I claim to have been pushed more than once. Could be this be where, and enhanced by closely drowning twice in later life, my dislike of water originated? 

Reviews

[willweb]

I would think that it definitely has something to do with it if it isn't entirely the reason. Events like that when we are kids do have a affect on us whether we like to this so or not. Nicely written flash