My 13-year-old has a passion for boating.
As my father pointed out, he comes by it naturally, perhaps genetically. Monday evening, Tim announced he planned to go to bed early and sleep late, just to make the seasonal launch of my parents’ boat, which was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, arrive faster, the way some kids try to get to bed early on Christmas Eve. “I was just the same way at his age,” my father remarked. “And Rick probably was too.”
So with a father and a maternal grandfather who share his passion for motorboats, perhaps it’s not surprising that this is one of the major driving forces in Tim’s life. And I always remind myself that the up side of having a child who is not particularly well-rounded, who immerses himself in a very small number of select interests, is getting to see his radiant joy when a long winter yields to a warm spring and a generous grandfather who was willing to schedule an early launch date this year.
It’s true that I’ve sometimes wished Tim had more diverse tastes. Whereas many of the boys his age watch all kinds of movies and TV shows, hang out in large groups, and opt to attend summer camps that showcase at least twelve to fifteen different activities a week, Tim has always kept his focus narrow. He has just two close friends with whom he chooses to spend most of his time. He currently likes just one genre of books – fantasy -- no matter how much his language arts teacher or I might urge him to spread his wings.
And he has two favorite activities: boating and baseball. Both are worthwhile pursuits, but both are also fair-weather activities. This means he has a tendency to effectively hibernate all winter, spending the vast majority of his free time sitting on the playroom couch reading or playing video games.
That’s hard for me to watch. There are lots of hobbies and interests I’d love to see him develop, and I get frustrated with his monomaniacal tendencies and his winter reclusiveness. But then on days like yesterday, as we prepared for the boat launch, all the hibernating almost seems worth it.
Tim woke up exuberant on boat launch day. He read the owner’s manual for the boat. He counted the minutes until it was time to leave for the marina. When we arrived at the boatyard, he was literally quivering with joy. His excitement lasted for the next several hours of boating and boat maintenance, and his first question after dinner was how early we could take the boat out the following day.
I can’t say it completely compensates for all the time he spends doing nothing during the winter. But with the boat launch this week and his first baseball game scheduled for next Monday, things are definitely looking up. Baseball and boating are under way, and Tim is his warm-weather self, his cheerful, exuberant self, again. Yes, it was a sluggish several months, even without a lot of cold and snow. Tim doesn’t have a lot of purpose during the fall and winter months. But baseball and boating are back in session, and so is he. It warms my heart to witness, yet again.
Showing posts with label boat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boat. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tim at the helm
Up in Maine over the weekend, I had my first opportunity of the year to go boating.
I enjoy boating but certainly don’t yearn for it; but for my 12-year-old, piloting a powerboat ranks right up there as probably one of his top three or four favorite things in life. In fact, during the weekend he mentioned that the Saturday a year ago when he boated all morning and went to an all-you-can-eat lobster picnic in the evening was “the best day of my life.”
This year, the two events were divided over two days: the annual lobster roll buffet took place on Saturday, but we didn’t have the chance to go boating until Sunday. My mother pointed out that the two activities were close enough that Tim could still construe it as the best 24 hours of his life even if it wasn’t technically all one day, but Tim responded that “Grandma, it doesn’t work like that.”
The fact that Tim loves boating so much makes it all the more fun for me, because it’s such a pleasure for me to see the level of engagement he shows when he has the opportunity to get out on the water. Under my father’s expert supervision, Tim plays close attention. He takes criticism well when he does things wrong, because he understands the high stakes where personal safety as well as the soundness of the boat are concerned. He takes pride in his nautical abilities, but he doesn’t rest on his laurels; he works hard to improve. With every ride, he gains more confidence and more skill.
It’s also teaching him to deal with obstacles and apprehensions. Yesterday, for the first part of the ride, he was anxious about the many larger boats in the vicinity and the wakes they were causing. “Oh, crap,” he said as each new set of waves from a passing boat hit us, until my father pointed out to him that “Oh, crap” wasn’t actually a nautical term. At that point he realized he was handing the wakes fairly well, and stopped fretting over each new one.
Another reason I appreciate Tim’s interest in boating is that he readily accepts the grunt work that goes along with the fun. At home, he has to be reminded to put dirty glasses in the sink and throw his clothes into the hamper, but with the boat, he’s always ready for the work that the sport entails. He knows the whole checklist he needs to run through before and after the ride, from snapping and unsnapping the canvas covers to putting away life vests, bumpers and ropes in their designated compartments.
It’s always a positive experience for parents to witness their kids engaged in something the kids truly love. I feel this way when I watch Tim play baseball as well, but baseball isn’t as much work as boating. What I appreciate when I see him on the boat is his grasp of the fact that most activities to which one wants to commit oneself include hard work, learning and concentration along with the fun. (Eating lobster rolls, of course, involves none of those extra elements, and he did plenty of that over the weekend as well.) Seeing how thoroughly he commits himself to becoming an ever better boater reassures me that he has the aptitude to learn and accomplish all kinds of things.
I enjoy boating but certainly don’t yearn for it; but for my 12-year-old, piloting a powerboat ranks right up there as probably one of his top three or four favorite things in life. In fact, during the weekend he mentioned that the Saturday a year ago when he boated all morning and went to an all-you-can-eat lobster picnic in the evening was “the best day of my life.”
This year, the two events were divided over two days: the annual lobster roll buffet took place on Saturday, but we didn’t have the chance to go boating until Sunday. My mother pointed out that the two activities were close enough that Tim could still construe it as the best 24 hours of his life even if it wasn’t technically all one day, but Tim responded that “Grandma, it doesn’t work like that.”
The fact that Tim loves boating so much makes it all the more fun for me, because it’s such a pleasure for me to see the level of engagement he shows when he has the opportunity to get out on the water. Under my father’s expert supervision, Tim plays close attention. He takes criticism well when he does things wrong, because he understands the high stakes where personal safety as well as the soundness of the boat are concerned. He takes pride in his nautical abilities, but he doesn’t rest on his laurels; he works hard to improve. With every ride, he gains more confidence and more skill.
It’s also teaching him to deal with obstacles and apprehensions. Yesterday, for the first part of the ride, he was anxious about the many larger boats in the vicinity and the wakes they were causing. “Oh, crap,” he said as each new set of waves from a passing boat hit us, until my father pointed out to him that “Oh, crap” wasn’t actually a nautical term. At that point he realized he was handing the wakes fairly well, and stopped fretting over each new one.
Another reason I appreciate Tim’s interest in boating is that he readily accepts the grunt work that goes along with the fun. At home, he has to be reminded to put dirty glasses in the sink and throw his clothes into the hamper, but with the boat, he’s always ready for the work that the sport entails. He knows the whole checklist he needs to run through before and after the ride, from snapping and unsnapping the canvas covers to putting away life vests, bumpers and ropes in their designated compartments.
It’s always a positive experience for parents to witness their kids engaged in something the kids truly love. I feel this way when I watch Tim play baseball as well, but baseball isn’t as much work as boating. What I appreciate when I see him on the boat is his grasp of the fact that most activities to which one wants to commit oneself include hard work, learning and concentration along with the fun. (Eating lobster rolls, of course, involves none of those extra elements, and he did plenty of that over the weekend as well.) Seeing how thoroughly he commits himself to becoming an ever better boater reassures me that he has the aptitude to learn and accomplish all kinds of things.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sitting at the dock of the bay (in the boat)
Although I blogged earlier about how it’s my summer resolution to learn how to drive a boat, specifically the powerboat my parents keep at their vacation place in Maine, I think it’s fair to say that starting to learn how to drive a boat is going to be a safer resolution than getting the job done. So far, not much progress, but that’s because of scheduling: we haven’t yet been able to find a time when my father and I could be in Maine at the same time, so there hasn’t been the opportunity for any lessons yet.
All of which is to say that when the kids and I decided to head up to Portland for a couple of days this week, it was with the understanding that much as the kids love the boat, going out on the water would not be part of the agenda. With just the three of us, it simply isn’t an option.
So I was caught off guard after dinner last night when Tim said, “Let’s go out to the boat.” “Yes, let’s go!” Holly chimed in.
Both kids have been here a time or two with my parents but without me, and on those visits they’d discovered a new favorite activity: sitting in the boat. That’s right, just sitting in a docked boat. It turns out that they both like to spend hours playing in the boat while it’s tied up at the dock.
At first I demurred. “It’s getting windy. It’s late. We’ll do it tomorrow,” I said.
But they convinced me. So for an hour or so yesterday, I found myself sitting in the back seat of a boat that never left the dock, just enjoying the ever-so-gentle surf as we bobbed next to the pier and the kids pretended we were going boating.
Not that Tim would say he was pretending anything, of course. At eleven, he considers himself too old for imaginary play. He assured me that he was busying himself with jobs he’s supposed to do whenever he’s in the boat: checking the knots at the tie-ups, confirming that the bumpers were all in place, unsnapping and re-snapping the cover. Generally puttering around seeing that all the pieces of the boat were just as they should be, or at least that’s what it appeared to me that he was doing.
Holly was less restrained. She put on a show for us. “I am the captain of this ship!” she proclaimed, standing at the console. “The cruise is about to leave! First off, let’s have some dance music!” There was no dance music except for the soundtrack in Holly’s head, but she let loose nonetheless. The idea of a Disco Captain is new to me, but according to Holly’s ongoing repartee, the crowd apparently loved it. “Thank you very much!” she yelled. “Everyone sit down now so the cruise can begin!”
Though the ropes held us firmly in place at the dock – and would for quite some time since Tim kept checking and re-checking the knots as he did his nautical rounds -- apparently in Holly’s mind we’d traveled to our first port of call, because soon Disco Captain was standing at the console with another loud announcement. “We’re docking now, so if you need to pee, get off and go that way!” she yelled, pointing to the pier. “Tim, how about you?”
Like any big brother, Tim is disdainful in equal measure of Holly’s imaginary games and any discussion of going pee, so he pointedly ignored her. “Well then, the captain will go!” she called out and marched out of the boat onto the dock.
In a moment she hopped back on, but with a different persona. “I’m your new captain, and I have some orders for you!” she announced. A lot of orders followed. It was the first time I’d played Simon Says at sea. Inches from land, yes, but still at sea. “What? You don’t think I’m a good captain?” she asked her invisible horde of passengers. “You want the old captain back? Fine! We’ll pick her up the next time we dock!”
Sure enough, the next port of call came within seconds. Holly walked off the boat onto the dock, and then re-boarded. “You voted, and I’m back! Your old captain!” she announced.
That drew Tim’s attention briefly away from rubbing down the gunwales with a paper towel. “Would the old captain really refer to herself as the ‘old captain’?” he asked. I conceded that he had a point. It was like ordering a Greek salad at a Greek restaurant, to use an example that my father insists my mother has actually done. (Verification of this story unconfirmed.)
Disco Captain busted a few more moves for us and then, I decided, it was time to disembark for real. The sun was setting, and both captain and maintenance crew needed to get to bed soon. I’d learned something, though. I had no idea sitting in the back of an unmoving boat could be so entertaining. I suppose that’s good news, just in case it takes me longer than I think to learn to operate the new boat. We can always just stay at the pier and pretend. Dance music not necessarily included.
All of which is to say that when the kids and I decided to head up to Portland for a couple of days this week, it was with the understanding that much as the kids love the boat, going out on the water would not be part of the agenda. With just the three of us, it simply isn’t an option.
So I was caught off guard after dinner last night when Tim said, “Let’s go out to the boat.” “Yes, let’s go!” Holly chimed in.
Both kids have been here a time or two with my parents but without me, and on those visits they’d discovered a new favorite activity: sitting in the boat. That’s right, just sitting in a docked boat. It turns out that they both like to spend hours playing in the boat while it’s tied up at the dock.
At first I demurred. “It’s getting windy. It’s late. We’ll do it tomorrow,” I said.
But they convinced me. So for an hour or so yesterday, I found myself sitting in the back seat of a boat that never left the dock, just enjoying the ever-so-gentle surf as we bobbed next to the pier and the kids pretended we were going boating.
Not that Tim would say he was pretending anything, of course. At eleven, he considers himself too old for imaginary play. He assured me that he was busying himself with jobs he’s supposed to do whenever he’s in the boat: checking the knots at the tie-ups, confirming that the bumpers were all in place, unsnapping and re-snapping the cover. Generally puttering around seeing that all the pieces of the boat were just as they should be, or at least that’s what it appeared to me that he was doing.
Holly was less restrained. She put on a show for us. “I am the captain of this ship!” she proclaimed, standing at the console. “The cruise is about to leave! First off, let’s have some dance music!” There was no dance music except for the soundtrack in Holly’s head, but she let loose nonetheless. The idea of a Disco Captain is new to me, but according to Holly’s ongoing repartee, the crowd apparently loved it. “Thank you very much!” she yelled. “Everyone sit down now so the cruise can begin!”
Though the ropes held us firmly in place at the dock – and would for quite some time since Tim kept checking and re-checking the knots as he did his nautical rounds -- apparently in Holly’s mind we’d traveled to our first port of call, because soon Disco Captain was standing at the console with another loud announcement. “We’re docking now, so if you need to pee, get off and go that way!” she yelled, pointing to the pier. “Tim, how about you?”
Like any big brother, Tim is disdainful in equal measure of Holly’s imaginary games and any discussion of going pee, so he pointedly ignored her. “Well then, the captain will go!” she called out and marched out of the boat onto the dock.
In a moment she hopped back on, but with a different persona. “I’m your new captain, and I have some orders for you!” she announced. A lot of orders followed. It was the first time I’d played Simon Says at sea. Inches from land, yes, but still at sea. “What? You don’t think I’m a good captain?” she asked her invisible horde of passengers. “You want the old captain back? Fine! We’ll pick her up the next time we dock!”
Sure enough, the next port of call came within seconds. Holly walked off the boat onto the dock, and then re-boarded. “You voted, and I’m back! Your old captain!” she announced.
That drew Tim’s attention briefly away from rubbing down the gunwales with a paper towel. “Would the old captain really refer to herself as the ‘old captain’?” he asked. I conceded that he had a point. It was like ordering a Greek salad at a Greek restaurant, to use an example that my father insists my mother has actually done. (Verification of this story unconfirmed.)
Disco Captain busted a few more moves for us and then, I decided, it was time to disembark for real. The sun was setting, and both captain and maintenance crew needed to get to bed soon. I’d learned something, though. I had no idea sitting in the back of an unmoving boat could be so entertaining. I suppose that’s good news, just in case it takes me longer than I think to learn to operate the new boat. We can always just stay at the pier and pretend. Dance music not necessarily included.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Determined to learn something new
I decided over the weekend that I am going to commit to trying to learn something new this summer. I’m going to try to learn to drive a powerboat.
Proclaiming this in the most sanguine of tones right now could be seen as a bit disingenuous. It will be a while before I have to prove my seriousness of intent. The specific boat I plan to learn to drive isn’t even in the water yet, and I’m more than a hundred miles from the particular coastline at which I hope to get my start. Sitting in my home office on a farm in the outer suburbs of Boston, with a view that overlooks woods and pastures as well as grazing cows and sheep, I might as well be 2500 miles from the ocean as the 25 I actually am. Easy to sit here at my desk on a warm May morning, coffee cup in hand, and announce that I plan to learn to drive a boat.
Nonetheless, my intent is genuine, and one reason I’m writing about it is that I believe so strongly in the “Write it down, make it happen” method of self-determination espoused by Henriette Anne Klauser, which says that the mere act of committing a resolution to paper (or screen) increases the odds of success. At least a few dozen people read my blog every day; if I openly share my intention, surely that’s a small step toward making it a reality.
I grew up in a boating family and married into another one; I now have an 11-year-old son who loves boats. And yet I always took it for granted that operating a boat was simply not something I was cut out for. I have boat phobia the same way some girls and women have math phobia: though no one but me is to blame for any message I’ve internalized about boating, I’ve always believed I just wouldn’t be capable of it. Boating was, I thought, something that required skills and talents that I was indisputably missing.
Well, I guess we’ll find out, and I can only hope this blog entry won’t be read at my memorial service after I go to a watery grave. (If that sounds like a morbid thought, I firmly believe bloggers and diarists have to think this way. I write in my journal every single day; something I write could be the last thing I ever write, and I have to be comfortable with the idea that anything I choose to publish could be what I’m ultimately remembered by.) My reasons are simple. I have the opportunity this summer to make good use of a new vacation property in the family at which is a boat, and if I don’t learn to operate it, we’ll be able to use it only when one of the two current boaters in the family is present, my father or my husband. However, my plans for this summer and farther into the future definitely involve time at the vacation place when neither of them is likely to be there. My kids love going out in the boat, and I’d like to be able to offer the option to my friends and other guests as well. So it’s simple: I can either continue thinking, as I have ever since adolescence, that I’m someone who is just not capable of operating a boat – as I’m not someone capable of learning trigonometry – or I can try to learn.
When I was in high school, I had a science teacher who told us on the first day of class that every year she tries to take up a new hobby – piano playing, American Sign Language, improv comedy, chess – just so that as a teacher, she never forgets what it’s like to be learning, to be a beginner trying to master a whole new concept. In my adult life, I haven’t been very good about seeking out new skills. I’ve let myself get into a lot of ruts in terms of believing I know what I’m good at and what I’m not.
Well, it’s one thing to know yourself and recognize your weaknesses, but I’m not convinced. I believe I’m a fairly good automobile driver, though I wasn’t when I started out, and I want to see if I can transfer those skills to the marine world. The benefits of my being able to use the boat will be many, but probably the greatest benefit if I succeed at this resolution will simply be the sense of empowerment it gives me. Maybe I’m someone who can learn new skills. Maybe I’m someone who can develop abilities that she previously assumed she didn’t have. And if that’s the case, maybe operating a boat is just the first step of many.
Proclaiming this in the most sanguine of tones right now could be seen as a bit disingenuous. It will be a while before I have to prove my seriousness of intent. The specific boat I plan to learn to drive isn’t even in the water yet, and I’m more than a hundred miles from the particular coastline at which I hope to get my start. Sitting in my home office on a farm in the outer suburbs of Boston, with a view that overlooks woods and pastures as well as grazing cows and sheep, I might as well be 2500 miles from the ocean as the 25 I actually am. Easy to sit here at my desk on a warm May morning, coffee cup in hand, and announce that I plan to learn to drive a boat.
Nonetheless, my intent is genuine, and one reason I’m writing about it is that I believe so strongly in the “Write it down, make it happen” method of self-determination espoused by Henriette Anne Klauser, which says that the mere act of committing a resolution to paper (or screen) increases the odds of success. At least a few dozen people read my blog every day; if I openly share my intention, surely that’s a small step toward making it a reality.
I grew up in a boating family and married into another one; I now have an 11-year-old son who loves boats. And yet I always took it for granted that operating a boat was simply not something I was cut out for. I have boat phobia the same way some girls and women have math phobia: though no one but me is to blame for any message I’ve internalized about boating, I’ve always believed I just wouldn’t be capable of it. Boating was, I thought, something that required skills and talents that I was indisputably missing.
Well, I guess we’ll find out, and I can only hope this blog entry won’t be read at my memorial service after I go to a watery grave. (If that sounds like a morbid thought, I firmly believe bloggers and diarists have to think this way. I write in my journal every single day; something I write could be the last thing I ever write, and I have to be comfortable with the idea that anything I choose to publish could be what I’m ultimately remembered by.) My reasons are simple. I have the opportunity this summer to make good use of a new vacation property in the family at which is a boat, and if I don’t learn to operate it, we’ll be able to use it only when one of the two current boaters in the family is present, my father or my husband. However, my plans for this summer and farther into the future definitely involve time at the vacation place when neither of them is likely to be there. My kids love going out in the boat, and I’d like to be able to offer the option to my friends and other guests as well. So it’s simple: I can either continue thinking, as I have ever since adolescence, that I’m someone who is just not capable of operating a boat – as I’m not someone capable of learning trigonometry – or I can try to learn.
When I was in high school, I had a science teacher who told us on the first day of class that every year she tries to take up a new hobby – piano playing, American Sign Language, improv comedy, chess – just so that as a teacher, she never forgets what it’s like to be learning, to be a beginner trying to master a whole new concept. In my adult life, I haven’t been very good about seeking out new skills. I’ve let myself get into a lot of ruts in terms of believing I know what I’m good at and what I’m not.
Well, it’s one thing to know yourself and recognize your weaknesses, but I’m not convinced. I believe I’m a fairly good automobile driver, though I wasn’t when I started out, and I want to see if I can transfer those skills to the marine world. The benefits of my being able to use the boat will be many, but probably the greatest benefit if I succeed at this resolution will simply be the sense of empowerment it gives me. Maybe I’m someone who can learn new skills. Maybe I’m someone who can develop abilities that she previously assumed she didn’t have. And if that’s the case, maybe operating a boat is just the first step of many.
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