LAVERN

On a bright summer day on Payette Lake Idaho where my family spent their summers my dad and uncles decided it was time for my brother and I to learn to water ski.  It was not so much our idea as it was my uncles, but it did look like fun and my older cousins knew how to ski and being more like your older cousins was always a plus.
 

You need to understand that we didn’t have a ski boat, oh no, what we had was my Uncle's old aluminum fishing boat with a small outboard motor on the back. The kind where you had to sit in the back corner on one side and drive the boat motor with one hand and hold on with the other hand while you tried to see around the bow which was sticking about ten feet up in the air because you could never ever get the boat up on plane pulling a 60 pound bundle of nerves and knees and elbows across the water.

So here’s the setup; Uncle Orval in the boat, Dad and Uncle Lavern standing in the water with me, sort of holding me in position, me strapped into a pair of miniature skis with little eye bolts screwed into them so they could tie the noses of the skis together with a piece of twine. I would bob in the water while I struggled to get the skis lined up and pulled my knees up toward my chest (it was very important for one to pull one’s knees up toward one’s chest) and when everything was just right or at least sort of just right or even downright good enough, I was to yell out “HIT IT!” with all of the gusto my squeaky prepubescent vocal cords could manage.  

As I laid back in the cold water, struggling with the skis I felt the same thing everyone who has stepped through a threshold into the unknown has felt.

Every sky diver in the doorway of an airplane,
every actor in the wings of a stage,
every bungee jumper with their toes on the precipice,
every first date,
first job,
first day of school.
every first,
every first,
every first.

I felt FEAR.  

I felt it tingle and race over my skin.  

I tasted it in my mouth.

I saw it as my vision narrowed

and then narrowed again

honing in on the moment with crystal clarity.  

I wanted to scream,

I wanted to cry,

I wanted to run,

I wanted it to just stop,

but these men were my Dad and my Uncles.

These were the men in my life.

There was no one I wanted to impress more.

No one.

So I steeled myself against the fear and the cold water and the strong tug on the rope and I threw caution to the wind and I yelled, “HIT IT!” and the little boat leapt forward and the skis pushed into the cold water carving a trough and my world became the trough and I pushed the wobbly skis into it and the water curled and splashed. I pulled hard against the tug of the rope and the rope fought back, struggling to break free of my measly grip, and the muscles down the sides of my back tightened and flexed against the bend of my spine and somehow slowly, slowly I began to feel the water beneath me change. I could feel the water transforming itself, becoming more and more solid as we gained speed, lifting me from the trough.  I was doing it! I was going to make it!

And then I fell.

And all at once it was over, the pull, the fight, the exhilaration.  The rope was gone, I could still feel the sting on my hands as it slipped from my grip.  The little boat was taking a long arc around me as I bobbed in the water. I looked down at the skis now awkward and heavy as they hung under me in the deep black water.  I’d never been this far out in the lake before. I could never have swum this far out.  I was a good swimmer, I was used to the water, but I was used to the friendly water near the shore. The water you could see through. The water that made little splishy splashy sounds as it rolled gently against the sandy shore. This water was different, this water was serious.

I turned toward shore and saw my Uncle Lavern swimming toward me. He was a strong swimmer and comfortable in the water.  I had to wait a bit but he soon swam up to me. The boat and the rope were back and he helped me sort out the ski’s that had somehow become hopelessly crisscrossed at the end of my legs. He got me into position and then he moved around behind me and held me against his chest. He felt strong and warm and secure. His hairy chest felt strange against my back. His grown up man breath smelled foreign as he spoke over my shoulder, telling me to lean back into him and calm myself in the water.  He slowly and calmly recited what to do, lean back, bring the tips of the ski’s out of the water, bring my knees up toward my chest, brace myself for the pull of the rope and once again I yelled, “HIT IT!” and I was torn from my Uncle’s embrace.  Skimming across the water in a wobbly battle with the wake and the wind and the waves, Oh God don’t let there be waves!

I don’t recall how many times it actually took for me to get the hang of it. I do remember it was less than my older brother, which is all that really matters.  The particulars have drifted off to that place where particulars go.

All I am left with are the memories

of the fear

and the fight

and the pride,

of the wanting to quit

and the not quitting,

of the strong and quiet encouragement

and the suddenness of the leap from my Uncle’s arms.  

I can remember it like it was yesterday.

Yesterday, when the suddenness came again.

Yesterday, when my Uncle Lavern passed away.

He was the last one.

The men who loved me

and shaped me

and made me who I am

are all gone now.
I am alone
but I can hear their voices teaching me

honesty,

integrity

pride

Teaching me to lean back,

face the fear

and be calm.