I hate fishing. I'm just going to say that upfront. It could possibly be for the mere fact that the first near death experience I had (that I remember, because apparently I had a few as a kid) involved fishing.
My dad used to take my sister and I fishing all the time at a river near our house called Lewis Creek. (There's a big trail for it that's apparently a big deal. You can Google it.) His friend had a fishing spot behind his house where the water wasn't too intense and we could fish in a little pond-like thing.
I don't remember how old I was, I think I was maybe five or six. We went fishing out there and my dad was standing next to me helping me cast my fishing pole when my sister caught a fish. She was all excited because she was maybe seven or eight and she called for my dad's help. My dad turned to go help her, and as he stepped up the rock we were standing on, his hand came around and accidentally smacked me in the face.
Now, being five or six, I didn't take a smack in the face lightly (and just for the record, my dad didn't do it on purpose so I have no resentment towards him for this. I find the story amusing now). I fell backwards. Into the river. And, being five, I didn't know how to swim.
It was a really good thing this fishing spot was here, because the river itself is an intense, white-water river. All I really remember is looking up, seeing a blur of water, hearing an intense rush, and seeing my dad turn around and put his hand in that river and pull me out.
It's a good thing my dad actually pays attention to everything, because if he didn't notice I fell in I honestly would have died.
As short as this little blog was, that was the first time I almost died. That I remember. (The other times were when I was 1 I choked on a banana and when I was 3 I choked on a grape. It might've been the other way around....It doesn't really matter though.)