Growing up on the Dust-Bowl plains of northwest Kansas in the 1930s in the midst of depression and drought meant that there was no abundance of water at our disposal.

Yet, on occasion, my mother would caution me and my younger brother with the words in the heading above, "No deep water."

The fact of the matter was that even in the midst of the drought we did have occasional rain. I remember how I was almost mesmerized one unusual night when there was a rain storm with lightning galore and looking out of the windows the outside was as bright as day with constant lightning flashes.

It was after that kind of occasional rain, sometimes over a day or two, that my mother would warn us, "No deep water," because the ditches alongside the dirt roads in the neighborhood and other low spots would see some water puddles collect.

That would be an exciting time for us children to put on our rubber boots and stomp around in the water and mud.

Actually, it rained often enough that almost everyone in every family had a set of boots or rubbers to protect shoes we wore to go outside. The boots had wide openings at the top so we could slip our feet and shoes on them into the boot, and then draw the boot closed with buckles on the side of each boot.

Depending on the length of the boot, there were three-buckle, four-buckle, and for real depth protection, even five-buckle boots. We never had the five-buckle size because they were too expensive.

To defend my mother's perspective, if we would "navigate" a puddle with muddy water, and go in so deep that the water would run over the top of the boot and get inside with the shoe and sock in it, there was a real mess to clean out and dry. So the "no deep water" warning was in place and I can only recall one time when one of us actually got in too deep — and was responsible for the cleanup and drying procedure.

So much for a muddy water story. But even clean water was not automatically available. Until I left home to enter college every drop of clean water to drink, wash, bathe or cook with in our family was brought into the house by hand-pump or bucket. So when I entered college 400 miles from home, I moved into "modern society," where running water, indoor toilets and other amenities were available. The same was true several years later when I enrolled in seminary even farther from home — here in St. Louis.

In water-scarce Kansas, I had not learned to swim and one of the first things my roommate (also from Kansas) and I saw on the bulletin board was an offer for free swimming lessons at the YMCA. We signed up and when we got to the downtown Y, I was once again reminded of the "no deep water" caution.

The instructor led the class of 10 to 15 of us poolside and said the first thing necessary to learn to swim was to get over the fear of water. So we were all lined up at the deep end of the pool (8 feet was it?) and to show that we would not drown even in deep water (deep water, indeed), we would each jump in one after the other and an assistant with a long pole would reach out to each of us as we came to the surface so we could grab it and safely exit the pool.

Some kind of 'social pressure" must have played in to prompt each of us to take the plunge, and I wouldn't be writing this story if I had not been pulled out of the pool to safety by grabbing the end of the pole.

Needless to say, neither my roommate nor I returned to the Y for lesson No. 2. And at age 87, I still can't swim.

At the risk of being accused of one-upmanship against my mother, I have recently come to the conclusion that a "don't get in too deep" warning is in place in today's society in other contexts besides water.

The news media have reported on more than one case of persons who got in "too deep" religiously, politically or morally at the risk of their reputation or wellbeing without having a long pole to grab and be saved.

Hopefully, a word to the wise is sufficient for varied circumstances — "No Deep Water."€‚

Paul Strege is retired. He lives in South County. He did considerable international travel as a mission executive and has written five books about his life.