John had more natural athletic talent than

any three particularly good athletes combined.

 

When he dove in and sprinted in free style

across the pool it seemed he barely touched

 

the water flying low and dipping in hands

and feet when necessary for leverage and

 

torque and all that aside, he was a really

courteous kid, too. His emaciated father

 

and mostly apologetic mother sat in the

bleachers for every event of every meet,

 

dad keeping score and mom seemingly

thinking of something for which she

 

should be embarrassed and sorry. He

graduated as an All-American many

 

times, and years later his alcoholic father

and apologetic mother died and long

 

after being seen surfing in Lake Michigan

and looking really buff, he drank himself

 

silly and descended to the bottom of the

pool bottle in hand directly into hospice

 

care and died at the young and tender

age of forty-three from cancer, brought

 

on by the bottle, which he carried with him

right through the door of hospice house,

 

which mercifully let him keep the bottle,

which he hugged close to his once powerful chest.