When my brother Tony and I were about 12, we picked strawberries at one of the local farms during the summers for a couple of years. The day started at 5:30 a.m. and if you were late you didn't get to work. It ended at noon, before the "heat of the day" started. Pay was 7 cents per quart box picked, and they'd better be FULL! We'd bicycle out, a couple of miles each way.

One day, coming home through the local park, some neighbor kids -- little kids, about 7 or 8 -- came running up, yelling. One of their friends had slipped while wading in the "fishing pond" and needed help.

We tried to reach him with a stick, but it was too far. So my brother took my hand and I braced on the bank while he waded out and pulled the kid to shore. The kid wasn't breathing.

An adult was walking by and took over, giving kid artificial respiration. One of the other kids had run to a nearby house and the people there had called the fire department. When the FD arrived
the kid was sitting up and coughing. He was taken to the hospital anyway.

The adult was thanked and praised for saving the kid. My brother and I continued our trip for the last four blocks to home.