I was 13. We'd driven from Amarillo to Grand Lake in East Central Oklahoma for the July 4th weekend, caravaning with a family from our neighborhood, the Babbs.
We were staying at a cabin owned by an oilfield service company, free of charge. After getting settled in, we decided to take the ski boat out on the lake. My friend Chuck Babb and I went to the boathouse where the Chris Craft ski boat was. It was an inboard/outboard walk-through model, probably 18' or so.
Chuck and I were careful about reading the start-up directions, running the blower in the engine compartment for several minutes before turning the key. As we got the motor running a few of the others got on the boat, including my father.
After we were backed out of the boathouse, I walked to the back of the boat to sit on one of the seats next to the motor cowling. As I leaned over to unsnap the seat, letting it down to its sitting position, there was an explosion of fuel vapors inside the motor cowling. The next thing I knew I was all the way in the front of the boat where the explosion had thrown me.
The back-end of the boat was engulfed in flames. Just as I turned around, looking for my father, I saw him diving into the water, away from the boat, swimming towards the shore about 50 yards away.
Someone grabbed me from behind, throwing me into the water on the opposite side of the boat, away from the shore. When I came to the surface I felt something on my neck, like a leaf or weed; I reached up to pull it from my neck, looking into my hand to see what it was. Skin. I'd been burnt pretty badly, my skin already bubbling up.
I looked around to see a boat full of people coming towards me, arms reaching down, pulling me to safety.
I looked back, towards the shore, wondering where my father had gone.
There he was, sitting on the bank, alone...
