Gone Fishing

It's a beautiful sunny Saturday, and the lake looks like pure glass as we approach it. I take it all in from my perch high atop my Dad's shoulders. We reach the end of the pier, and he lifts me easily into the shiny red boat with the black motor; settling me onto the passenger seat. Our rods and tackle box are already on board, along with a big cooler. Dad steps in quickly, unties the boat, and slides behind the wheel. He grins at me and says, "We're goin' fishin' girl!"

With a turn of the key, the engine roars to life. I don't like the noise. It's loud and scary. Then Dad thrusts the throttle into gear and, as the boat leaps forward, I am thrown back into my seat. "Isn't this fun?" Dad yells over the engine noise. I'm scared. I can't swim, and it doesn't really feel like fun to me. But, I say, "Yes" anyway.

I turn and ask him, "Don't I need a life jacket? Mom said to be sure to wear one." He laughs and shouts back at me, "Mom's not here, and life jackets are for sissies. You're not a sissy are you?" I say, "No", but I think maybe I am, because I want to wear a life jacket like Mom said. Ashes from Dad's cigarette are blown into my face and they burn. I brush them away quickly, and try not to cry. Dad doesn't like cry babies or sissies.

He leans over and says, "Hey, Buddy, Want to drive?" I say, "No. That's OK Dad. You drive." He frowns and says, "Don't be a baby. I want to go in back and adjust the motor. I need you to steer straight ahead while I go do that. You're my co-pilot aren't you? Now don't make any turns. Just keep straight ahead. OK?" I don't want to drive the boat. My heart is racing and my stomach's flip flopping, but I slide into the drivers seat and grip the wheel, because I don't want to disappoint him. I say, "Sure, Dad. I'm your co-pilot."

He smiles and goes in back to work on the motor. We fly across the water. I steer straight ahead and it seems like the shore is coming up really, really fast. But Dad said not to turn the wheel. I'm so scared. The tears are coming out of my eyes, and I can't stop them this time. I'm even afraid I'm going to wet my pants. Hurry, Dad. Please, hurry.

At last he is there beside me again taking the wheel. He pats me on the head and says, "Good job." I look away and scoot back into the passenger seat. Then he looks at me, frowning, and barks, "Oh my God! You're not crying are you?" I say nothing. I wipe away the tears and hang my head in shame. I've ruined everything by being a baby. Why can't I just be brave like he wants me to be?

Dad tosses an empty brown bottle over the side and grabs another one from the cooler. He opens it quickly, then turns the boat, cutting back around and bumping over our wake. We bounce off our seats, and he laughs and drinks from the brown bottle again, and yells above the wind, "Let's go catch us some fish!"