My father and I were visiting Sanibel Island one weekend in about the Summer of ’75. My grandparents had a house up on stilts two stories and the house backed up to a freshwater lagoon that was fed by a nearby river. There were three steps leading down from the drive to the water’s edge. The week before, my father had bought me a gas powered model airplane, and the goal was to fly it today. But he can’t get it to run. He has rebuilt engines of cars all his life and here he can’t get a little 1cc single cylinder engine to run. After about a half hour, he’s getting frustrated.

So he walks over the the steps and sits down on the second step and puts his toes in the water. He then proceeds to try to get the little engine to fire. He has been intently doing this for about a half an hour when he looked up. Laying with his snout about 1/4 inch from my father’s toes is a 12 or 14 foot long alligator. Just watching him. Now, getting up and trying to run wasn’t on the agenda. Kicking it in the nose would probably cost a foot. So, he just stares it in the eyes. After a bit, real quietly, he starts calling my name, which I finally hear. I come running over the rise, and catch a glimpse of something flicking a long tail and thrusting away.

“Thanks.” My dad said. And he went about messing with the engine. “I knew that when you came running it would scare it away.”

He did get it to run eventually. We had fun with it, and he still had all of his toes.