I’m proud of my kids. I’m proud of their creativity. I’m proud of their intellect. I’m proud of their athleticism. I’m proud of their strong character. I’m proud of their obedience.
But, their obedience almost cost me my life one blue-sky Sunday afternoon on the lake.
As the Patriarch of our little family I feel it’s my duty to teach my boys the finer things in life; and Honey allows me to think that I’m good at it. Things like a rib-eye steak marbled with just the right amount of fat, how to pick out a guitar with just the right combination of tone woods that will age and give off the sweetest of sounds as they strum their six-string and impress their future wives, pick-up lines to get that future wife they’re trying to accidentally run into at Wal-Mart (“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Anywhere? No? Are you sure?” and “Pick-up on aisle 7”), and fishing.
My buddy, Bart, introduced me to fishing from a bass boat. This is where you no longer stand on the bank yearning to be out on the water to catch the big ones; rather, you stand in a boat and move in close to the bank to catch the big ones in the cattail–right around the spot you’d been standing in prior to boat ownership (and the payments Honey tells you about each month).
Catching bass boat fever was easy. And, Bart made it look easy to launch one of these fine crafts. Having jack-knifed many a trailer in my life, and smashed in many taillights, I felt it was a natural step to buy a boat to smash into the tailgate of my current truck. I was overjoyed when I found out trailers now had “extended tongues” making it impossible to smash my tailgate and somewhat hiding my experience in ruining the back end of vehicles for years from ogling onlookers with their camera phones pointed in my direction at the boat ramp.
As I began speaking of bass boats more often, Honey became suspicious. She saw that far away look in my eyes. That look that I get when I’m not present with her; instead, I’m present at Cabelas. She jerked me out of my daydreams by asking “What aisle are you in? Camo? Bows? BBQ grills? Sunglasses?” Little did she know I wasn’t in any of those aisles. I was in the showroom picking out the most perfect lunker-attracting setup I could find. Something shiny; loaded with the right features. Something that would stretch me just beyond the bounds of my monthly budget.
Herb, a great salesman was stroking my ego as he told me I had the look of a great fisherman. I stared intently at the fish-finder he was showing me. It was mounted right on the dash. I had no idea how to use it, nor would I ever. The more features he listed off, the less I understood. But, that didn’t stop my dream. I was hooked when he showed me the built in ice-chest.
The dream became a reality one weekend when I happened to see a boat shop conveniently located right where my truck seemed to be driving me. I knew Honey would like it when I came home and showed her the extra seat I’d ordered with it just for her. “Just think of the books you can read sitting there beside me as I fish.”
“Fish? Doesn’t that involve actual fish?” She wasn’t impressed. She even reminded me that I hadn’t caught a fish in the last seven years; and it was not because I hadn’t tried.
“Honey, you’ll love this thing!” I said excitedly with pleading eyes. “The whole reason I haven’t caught a fish is because I need to come at the cattails from the other direction. They can see me on the bank. They won’t see this boat looming upon them.”
So, the dream became a reality. As I hitched my new 16 foot Crestliner Fishhawk to my Tundra I felt a surge of satisfaction. All things were right. My kids looked on in awe. My wife, not so much. Nevertheless, fish would soon be crowding in my live well.
I picked the perfect Sunday. No wind, sunshine peeking through a slightly overcast sky. We were excited. Honey would even film the maiden launch. We made our way to the lake stopping only to fill the built-in ice-chest with drinks, candy and bologna. All was well.
When we reached the lake I pre-positioned my rig to slip the boat into the lake with a straight shot off the ramp. I put the lifejackets on my boys and gave them a lecture.
“I’m going to back this boat into the lake. You understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Keep your life jackets on. Do not take them off. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir” (as the younger boy’s face grew redder by the moment..maybe I should loosen his a bit).
“Do not touch any of the controls. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Stay in your seats. Understand?”
“Yes. Sir.”
I gave them a stern look just to be sure.
Tucked into their lifejackets and strapped into their seats, I slowly backed the trailer into the lake. My plan was to get it halfway in then get into the boat with the boys. Honey would drive the truck straight up the ramp and park.
I backed the boat as has never been seen in the wild. The truck and boat were one, as if a straight arrow, and the trailer slipped into the lake. I set the emergency brake and departed the truck. I climbed into the boat, smiled at the boys who must have been very proud of their father and excited to take a ride on the lake. I placed the boat in reverse and hit the throttle. Nothing. The boat did not move. I couldn’t understand it. I checked all the cables and straps. They were all undone. The boat should slip right off the trailer with ease. I decide I needed to back it down just a bit more and get some more water under it. I put it in neutral and reminded the boys not to touch anything.
“Yes, Sir!” they sounded off like privates at basic training.
I got back in the truck and backed the boat down a bit more. In my rear-view mirror I saw the boat slowly backing itself off the trailer and into the lake. I panicked. Apparently, I had not put the gear shift all the way into neutral. It was still slightly in reverse. Enough so that it had the power to begin moving away from the shore.
I jumped from my truck and ran to the boat. I was chest deep in water before I reached the boat. I grabbed on to the front of the boat at the very point where the two sides come together. I heaved my way up with a pullup I thought I couldn’t do. As I crested the top of the boat I saw my boys, ever obedient, sitting in their seats watching the events unfold with eyes as wide as saucers. I went down again and continued to be dragged across the lake.
I pulled myself up once again. I saw them. Their eyes and mine locked for a second before I went back down. The silent message screamed “Help me, I’m going to drown!”
No help. They sat frozen to their seats even as concern for their father’s well-being crossed their minds. No way were they going to get in trouble.
I had the strength to do one last pullup before forever sinking into Echo Lake. I mustered all my will power and heaved one more time. This time I yelled, “For the love of God, get up and pull me in!” just as I went back down. As my grip slipped away and I held on with two fingers I saw four small hands grab my wrists and begin pulling. My boys were going to save me–now that they had permission.
They pulled with all their might and I swung a leg over the bow. Grabbing my body, they rolled me into the boat. I spit out algea and gasped for air. I was saved.
I was so proud of both of them.
As Honey looked on, video camera in hand, she beamed with pride at her obedient progeny.