An eye for an I
Funny how your life’s calling comes about. I was ten, doing my morning ablutions on the junior dock at Camp Nagiwa, run by the Guelph YMCA. Junior because it was smaller than the main dock and the water was shallower. Lathered with soap, I dove in and felt my head scrape a rock on the bottom. I stood up, bleeding profusely. Someone got me to the camp’s nursing station then by car to Coldwater, Ont., where a doctor put in stitches. I returned to camp but spiked a fever. My mother drove from Guelph to bring me home. Family doctor...
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