My dad doesn’t like to swim. In fact, he’s always been kind of afraid of the water – because he never learned how to swim. My mom was the same way.
Yet, for 20 years my parents lived on Lake Bloomington in Central Illinois with a swimming dock and boats. During that time, my dad’s carefree approach to boating became legendary.
“Let’s see how slow this boat can go,” Dad said one summer evening long ago, grinning at my two-and-a-half year old son Wes, as we puttered into a quiet cove at dusk on his pontoon boat.
“Oh, no,” I thought. “Here we go again. What is he doing?”
About two seconds later, the engine died and we found ourselves stuck in the middle of the water about 25 yards from shore.
“Dad,” I lamented. “You dork. Now what are we going to do?”
Laughing, he replied “Well, let’s look for a paddle.” He pulled open the seat cushions and looked in the musty storage lockers underneath.
“Hummm, there only appear to be smelly lifejackets and a few spiders. No paddle.”
“Without a paddle, we are pretty much dead in the water,“ I stated, looking at my mom, who was holding Wes on her lap, looking a bit worried. I wasn’t really worried, since it was a warm summer evening and the water was calm.
We weren’t in any danger. But I could also swim and wasn’t afraid of the water.
“I think our only hope is for you to swim to shore and get help,” Dad said after we’d floated in silence for a few seconds.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“I think it is our only hope,” he repeated, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I reasoned. “Someone may come along in a boat.”
“You’re a good swimmer, you can do it,” he urged, grinning at me. “I know you can. That’s the Adams’s house right there. Ann and Art Adams know who we are. They’ll help us.”
As I plunged off the side into the warm water, I heard Wes’s little voice asking, “Why’s Mommy going swimming with all her clothes on?”
The only answer I could hear was more laughter.
Help is On the Way
Within a few minutes, I made it to shore, made my way up the steps, and knocked on the door of the Adams house. A 60-ish, slightly overweight woman answered. Ann.
“Hi,” I said hopefully, as she stared at my dripping wet, fully-clothed body. “I’m Phares and Harriet O’Daffer’s daughter Sara. We’re stranded in your cove and need a tow.”
“I’m the only one home,” she replied. “I don’t usually drive the boat, but I think I can get it started.”
I followed Ann back down to the dock where she gamely climbed in her boat and started it up. It was dark by then.
We motored out to the marooned pontoon boat, hooked it to her boat with a ski rope, and slowly began towing it back to my parents’ house. Before we even made it 50 yards, Ranger Rick, Lake Bloomington’s laid-back law officer, came along in his boat and took over, guiding us safety back to our own dock.
“Thanks, Ann!” my father called as she sped away. “All’s well that ends well.” His can-do attitude and ability to see the humor in most situations are what I love most about my dad.
Party Barge for Non Party-ers
Shortly after moving to Lake Bloomington in 1989, Dad had bought that large gray pontoon boat, which was labeled across the side as the “Party Barge.”
Although there were weight limits, the Party Barge could comfortably accommodate 12 people, which made it ideal for group rides around Lake Bloomington.
“How could you buy a boat named the ‘Party Barge’? I teased him after he bought it. “You and Mom don’t even drink, let alone party.”
He laughed and replied, “I wanted a big boat so I could take groups of people on rides when they come to visit.”
My dad has never needed alcohol to have a good time. When he’s doing something, he lives in the moment and uses humor and intrigue to make things interesting for those around him.
He always sees the glass half full. And my dad can laugh at his own foibles with boating and all things with moving parts and take endless ribbing about them.
Boating Lore
His boating lore began to develop during the early years on the lake when Dad would get a group loaded onto the Party Barge for a ride – only to discover that the battery was dead and the engine wouldn’t start.
“I thought I charged this,” he’d mutter. “Must be a bad battery.”
Once, with a full group of us on board heading into a distant part of the lake my parents had dubbed South America because it took so long to get there, Dad came to a stop in a peaceful cove. “Throw the anchor in the water, Richard,” he ordered my now ex-husband. “This is a good place for us to eat our lunch.”
With a flourish, Richard heaved the anchor overboard. It landed with a big splash and then sank to the bottom of the murky lake, taking the line with it.
“Phares,” Richard said, staring at the water. “Why wasn’t the anchor tied to the boat?”
“Gosh, I don’t know,” Dad replied. “It must have come undone.” And instead of getting mad about it, he just laughed with us.
Trouble Again
Another summer, early in the season, a bunch of us were out for a ride on a newer, bigger pontoon boat that Dad bought to replace the Party Barge so he could accommodate more people on his around-the-lake tours.
We were in that same cove by East Bay Camp, and Dad decided to go into a little swimming area that had a dock jutting out over the water.
He slowed the engine almost to a stop and the wind began to blow the boat toward the dock. I knew this was trouble.
Almost simultaneously, my sister Sue and I looked at each other and yelled, “Stop! Stop, you’re going to hit the dock!”
Dad panicked and gunned the engine to try to avoid a collision. He ran into the dock and put a small dent in the side of the pontoon boat.
“No harm done,” he said, cheerily. It was the perfect start to another memorable season with My Dad the Boatman.
Lucky Guy
If anything, my dad was very lucky with boats. Unlike other men who owned watercraft, he never aspired to be an expert sailor, tinker with engines, or swab decks for enjoyment.
He bought the boats because he wanted others to be able to enjoy them — and he did, indeed, give all of us years of enjoyment on so many different levels. Dad is lucky that he never had any serious boating accidents – but luck has been a common theme throughout his life.
As my Grandpa Willie the farmer used to say, he’s the guy who, if he fell into a lake, would come out with his boots full of fish.
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What’s my story? I’m a healthcare and senior living design knowledge expert who writes and speaks frequently about trends and issues affecting these two industries. I’m also a strategic marketing consultant and content creator, working with companies and organizations who want to improve the quality of healthcare and senior living through the design of the physical environment. You can reach me at [email protected].