I spent my elementary school summers swimming with friends at a local pool. My father taught me how to do some competitive diving, so I was very familiar with using the diving boards. This day in August 1965 was the first time that summer that my mom and sister were at the pool with me. My dad, an airline pilot, was out of the country.

I was ten years old, and on this day I fell from the ten-foot-high diving board onto the concrete alongside it, missing the water entirely. I have no memory of the fall itself, but what I do remember is just as vivid now as it was the day it happened. 

I suddenly found myself looking down on the swimming pool as if I were fifty or sixty feet in the air. I could see people running to gather around some activity near the base of the high diving board. I asked, “What’s happening?” A very distinct and calm voice answered, “You fell off the high diving board.” I argued, “No! This is just a dream!”