MY NEIGHBOR’S LITTLE SON CAME TO SWIM IN OUR POOL – WHEN HE TOOK OFF HIS SHIRT AND I SAW HIS BACK, I WAS LEFT SPEECHLESS
It was a regular Saturday. I was tidying up the yard when nine-year-old Dylan, my neighbor’s son, walked up to the front.
DYLAN: “Hi! Sorry to bother you, but can I swim in your pool for a bit?”
ME: “Of course, Dylan! Want some lemonade?”
DYLAN: “No, thanks!”

He laid his towel on the lounger, and I still decided to bring him some lemonade anyway. Just as I walked over to him, Dylan took off his shirt and hung it on the lounger. When he turned his back to me, I dropped the glass because on his back I saw a huge scar stretching from his left shoulder blade down toward his waist. It wasn’t just a small mark—it was wide, discolored, and looked like it had been there for a while. It took me a few seconds to pull myself together and realize the glass had shattered on the concrete.

“Dylan… goodness, are you okay?” I blurted out, not knowing what else to say. Immediately, I regretted my tone. I didn’t want to scare him or make him feel awkward.

But Dylan just shrugged. “Huh?” he asked, turning around, eyes going wide when he saw my broken glass on the ground. “Oh, sorry. Did I scare you?”

I put on a small smile and bent down to clean up the shards. “No, buddy. You’re fine. I just dropped it. Don’t worry.”

I could see concern on his face, so I tried to lighten the mood. “You know what? Let’s just forget about the spilled lemonade. Go jump in the pool. I’ll be right back with a broom.”

Dylan gave me a shy nod and hurried to the water. He seemed genuinely excited to swim, and I didn’t want to spoil his fun with probing questions. As I swept up the broken pieces, I realized I had never once noticed that scar before—even though I’d seen Dylan around countless times.

After I finished cleaning, I headed inside to grab another glass of lemonade. My mind was racing. I’d known Dylan’s mom, Carla, for a couple of years since they moved in next door. We chatted over the fence about the weather or collecting mail when one of us was out of town, but we’d never had a long heart-to-heart. I knew Dylan was a bright, friendly kid who loved swimming. But this enormous scar… how did I miss something so significant?

Curiosity mixed with worry. There are certain lines you don’t cross when it comes to someone else’s child, but I was anxious. Was he okay? Was there some kind of accident no one ever told me about? A million questions pulsed in my head.