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.

Let's pretend we're having a meeting

Kids who enjoy games of pretend as much as my 7-year-old does – the technical term, I now know after having two children go through kindergarten, is “dramatic play,” but the use of the word “dramatic” always makes me laugh in the context of small children – tend to favor scenarios depicting real-life events. My daughter and her friends play school, house and birthday party; they never play “climbing Mount Everest” or “deep-sea scuba expedition.” Although I’m occasionally surprised that my daughter still keeps busy with imaginary friends well into second grade, the pretending games themselves aren’t foreign to me; my sisters and I played a game in which we were caterers until we were, okay, if not old enough to hire our own caterers then at least old enough to get jobs with real caterers.

Still, the allure of reality-based pretending exceeded even my experience yesterday afternoon when, as I prepared dinner, Holly announced we were going to play “Meeting.” She instructed me to meet her in the kitchen with a notebook and pen, because I’d have a lot of notes to take during this pretend meeting.

It’s so amusing to me that she chooses one of the hands-down most mundane elements of adult life to turn into a game. I think of meetings as one of my least favorite components in a typical week. I’ve been known to declare at church that I’d rather single-handedly update the entire membership directory in longhand than attend a meeting about it.

At yesterday’s pretend meeting, which Holly explained to me was a gathering of “the Rufflemuffle Committee” (“and you have to be invited,” she clarified, so I guess I was meant to feel honored), the first order of business was for me to be introduced individually to each of the other two-dozen or so participants. Even as she presented me to each of my invisible peers, Holly made small talk about how she was sure I’d met most of them before: “Kayla was at that party I had last spring. Jenna owns the house where I house-sat over Christmas. Petey was on that other committee with you last year. Ellen –“

“—ran over my dog,” I interrupted.

Holly glared at me. She never appreciates my obnoxious attempts to amuse myself at her imaginary friends’ expense.

Introductions over, Holly brought the meeting to order and gave us our assignment. “Everybody write a list of the things you like about ice cream,” she instructed. That was easy; I could complete the task even while I tore up lettuce leaves for a salad. “Variety of flavors. Sweet. Creamy. Rich,” I wrote.

“Good. Now everybody write a list of the things you like about cake,” Holly ordered. This exercise, I discovered, was a little bit more challenging. I do love cake but couldn’t come up with as many reasons. “Crumbly. Moist. The frosting,” I wrote a little bit more pensively.

The last instruction proved to be the hardest. “Now, a list of what you like about meetings,” Holly said.

Meetings! I don’t like anything about meetings! I looked at Holly and she frowned back at me. “Write!” she hissed. “Everyone else is!” I could almost hear their imaginary pencils scratching against imaginary paper.

“Refreshments,” I wrote. “A comfortable place to sit down.” I thought harder. “Getting together with other people.” There had to be more. “Coming up with ideas. Feeling like you’re going to accomplish something as a group.”

Strange, I realized as I was writing, this isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. And it made me appreciate Holly’s pretending in a way I hadn’t before, because by turning a regular element of my life into something of a masquerade, she had helped me see it in a different way. All of the components on my last list really were things I liked about meetings.

Perhaps not coincidentally, I actually had a meeting that evening after dinner, the monthly meeting of a nonprofit board of which I’m a member. As I sat at that meeting taking notes, I had to acknowledge that I actually was having more fun than usual. People were making amusing comments; some of the issues we needed to resolve were thought-provoking; and the decisions about whom to invite as a keynote speaker at our spring event would be fun to discuss.

So I learned something, thanks to Holly. Meetings aren’t so bad, as seen through a child’s eyes. Now maybe we can play an imaginary game of dental surgery or trip to the Registry of Motor Vehicles. Maybe Holly and her imaginary posse can make events even that mundane seem fun too.