June 30, 2025 
by M. Regina Cram
During the noisy summers when our children were small, our favorite destination was a pool down the street. We loved the slide and swings and swimming lessons, but most of all, we loved Tony.
Tony was our favorite lifeguard and swim coach, and he had a remarkable knack for kids. He spent one entire summer coaxing our shy toddler into the pool, proudly displaying her progress when she jumped off the diving board into his arms. After that, she’d often run to him giggling, “You’re my Tony Bologna!”
During Tony’s last summer, our nine-year-old son Skip complained to anyone who would listen that he was the only kid in America whose mom wouldn’t let him see the PG-13 Jurassic Park movie. One morning, Tony beckoned Skip with a conspiratorial air and whispered something to the wide-eyed child. Afterwards, Skip announced, “Tony saw Jurassic Park last night and it was so scary he practically had nightmares! He says I shouldn’t see it.” Skip never asked again.
So we were devastated a month later when Tony was killed in Moscow, where he’d gone to study. Summer after summer, Tony showed scores of impressionable kids that kindness is cool, leaving a legacy that still inspires them.
I wonder if I ever thanked him for that.
Why is it we don’t thank people more? I don’t mean the grudging thanks when Grandma gives you socks for Christmas. I mean heartfelt appreciation when we tell someone how much they mean to us, and why.
Most of us don’t do this very often. We tell ourselves the other person already knows how we feel. Besides, there’s always tomorrow.
But sometimes tomorrow doesn’t come. A sudden heart attack or a tragic accident, and the chance is gone. So we tell the next of kin how much their loved one meant to us, and quietly resolve not to take people or life for granted again. Then, imperceptibly, we return to our old ways.
I once wrote a note to a physician who was instrumental in saving my life. I told him that saving a life is a precious thing that I did not take for granted just because it was supposed to be his job.
I later learned the doctor carried my note in his pocket for months. It reminded me how much a simple expression of thanks can mean.
I wish I had kept remembering.
At swimming championships during Tony’s last summer, our competitive nine-year-old believed he was a top breaststroke finisher. When the standings were posted, however, Skip found himself in sixth place. Fighting back tears, he sought out his swim coach.
Tony knelt down to look Skip in the eye, and as he explained the scoring system, Skip began to grin. Later, Skip proudly announced, “Tony says I’m the sixth-best breast stroker in the whole league and I’m only nine!”
I left the pool that day with a deep affection for Tony, whose gentle way made a child feel like a giant.
I just wish I had told him so.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
