The Day I Pulled Him From the Water

How A Few Seconds Can Mean Life or Death

There’s a fine line between saving a human life and feeling responsible for the loss of one. Strangely, I would know.

At the tail end of the pandemic, I met a new friend just when I needed it the most.

An 8-year-old named Lac lived down the street from me in Hoi An, Vietnam, and for some reason, he had taken great interest in the only foreigner living on the street.

“Chú tây", he’d call me. It means “Uncle Westerner” (yes, it’s derogatory).

He and I had developed a unique bond that summer. 

He spoke zero English, and his Central Vietnamese accent was so strong I could usually only pick up about 20% of what he said. 

He seemed different from the other kids. He was often aloof, didn’t pick up on social cues, and his comments, when I did manage to understand them, seemed rather random.

Plus, why would he want to hang out with a grown man when our block was packed with other kids his age?

For weeks on end, he would come over every day around 5 PM, the golden hour when the summer heat dipped just enough for the local children to play outside before they’d be called back in for dinner.

We’d go on bicycle rides together. We’d play with a ball, pick flowers, or walk down to the fields and pick up garbage along the way. 

Some days he’d just want to hang out in the house showing me YouTube videos on the iPad.

Then, most evenings after dinner, he’d stop by to play with our kittens or beg me to walk his dog with him.

I was dealing with depression at the time, and most of my friends had left the country. So I enjoyed Lac’s company. On days I didn’t get to see him, I missed him.

It gave me some purpose to look after the young boy, and his passion and curiosity for life was contagious.

One morning, when our front door was open, he let himself in (which is oddly common in the Vietnamese countryside). Then, he came all the way upstairs, and right into my bedroom while I was still sleeping. 

He didn’t knock. He just yelled my name. As I got up, he turned off the AC, opened the windows, and then asked if he could use the iPad.

Like I said, he was unique :)

Our time together was filled with small, strange moments like this—moments that always left me guessing what he'd do next. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened that day.

We were walking near the river, and Lac was hunting for snails along the shore as I paced up and down the sand. 

I paused to check my phone and respond to a message. How long was I on my phone? 1 minute? 5 minutes? Too long.  

I averted my gaze from the screen and looked up. Lac was nowhere to be found. 

In the distance, I detected some movement. Two hands were splashing in the water. Lac was in the river. 

Most Vietnamese boys don’t know how to swim, and I’m sure he was no different. 

Time slowed down as my veins became flooded with endorphins. 

I darted in his direction.

I felt a lot of love for this boy. His smile was pure and his demeanor was innocent. And now, he was on the verge of drowning. 

As I approached, I saw his head bobbing up and down. His mouth gasped for air and struggled to stay above water for long. 

I was afraid, but I don’t recall feeling fear. I felt alive, alert, and focused. 

I quickly emptied my pockets and plopped everything on the dirt; it just felt like the right thing to do. 

I remember hearing a voice in my head say, “Do we have time for this? What if the boy drowns and you’re ten seconds too late because you wanted to save your belongings?” 

But there was no time for hesitation. 

I dove into the water towards Lac, scooped him up, and brought him to the sandy river bank. Luckily, he was still breathing. 

He was restless, and I tried to get him to calm down, but he resisted. 

“Can you breathe okay?”

He nodded; he couldn’t yet speak. We were both heaving heavily.

“Do you have water inside?” I pointed to my chest. 

He shook his head no. 

I can still remember the look on his face as we sat there, our clothes drenched from the dirty river water. I’ve never had such an intimate encounter with fear in my life. 

We sat in silence as we caught our breath. 

The next thing I remember is Lac trying to clean himself off. As he realized how dirty he was, he pouted in frustration. His clothes were soaked, his back was covered in sand, and his hair was wet. 

Having just survived a near-death experience, I’ll never forget the first thing that came out of his mouth: 

“Ugh…my parents are going to punish me for this!”

I sat there, stunned. Speechless. 

This boy had nearly died, but the fear of upsetting his parents was greater than death itself.

As he continued to try to clean his clothes and dry his hair, I attempted to stop him. 

“Just relax, don’t worry about that”, I said. But there was no getting through to him. 

As we walked back to his house, I questioned his fear. Would his parents punish him? I had no idea what his family life was like. I had saved him from drowning, but there wasn’t much I could do to save him from his parents. 

I was still processing things myself. While I had saved this boy's life, he had also nearly died on my watch.

When we arrived at his home, I pulled his father aside. 

I felt so guilty. This man had trusted me with his son and I almost let him die. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t feel ready to talk about what had just happened. 

I told him that Lac had fallen in and I had to help him, and I said that Lac was still very scared. I asked him to be gentle because Lac was scared his parents might be very upset that he fell in. 

His dad smiled, seeming super laid back and chill—almost too carefree, given what had just happened.

I walked home, replaying the events in my mind. Lac was okay, but the weight of what could have been stayed with me long after.

Over time, Lac and I grew apart. Schools opened up again, and life went back to normal. He played with the neighborhood gang and found his place among the kids his own age.

I’d see him on his bike and he’d greet me with a yell and a smile, but he wouldn’t beg me to play with him. He no longer needed me, and I no longer needed him. 

As for me, I felt a sense of peace, knowing that maybe I had made a small difference in his life. Seeing him run and laugh with his friends filled me with joy. Like a proud parent, I loved him from afar.

I was glad we could both move on. But some moments, like that day Lac nearly died in my arms, still linger. I’ll never forget the day he almost drowned, but I hope he does.