Funny how some memories travel with you through life. I must have been in the 8th grade when I set out to go fishing in the bay -- it just happened to one one heck of a windy day! Real gusts, cross currents, and a very narrow bridge to row through. Why not just stay how--that sensible thought never crosses the boy's mind you has his heart set on fishing. And looking back now, I suspect that I had something to prove to myself about seamanship. My Dad had warned me about trying to make that row through the narrows--how easy to hung up on the bridge--then what?
Off I went and into the row boat. The tricky part was how to get up enough forward momentum to get through the bridge while I shipped oars because they would not fit. Of course, there were second thoughts as I aimed the boat toward the bridge. I had to hope that if necessary--I could just drift back and try again.
The real story is not that I made it through. Not by good seamanship, but only the grace of the current...which seemed to die down under the bridge so that the forward movement did carry me through it. The real story is that as I emerged on the other side and headed into the calmer bay, there on the side of the bank stood my father, turning and walking back up the path. He'd been there all along.
I have heard that the kid's prayer is--"Give me just enough distance to let me do it myself--but do not go far while I try." Amen to that prayer. I can still see my Dad turning and leaving--not needing to say he was there--just being there while I made my great "try" at the ocean. From then on, whatever I did, Dad was always at the oars with me.
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