So when I was 13-14 my father owned a boat rental company in a small harbor cut out of cove on the St. John’s river in Florida. I went out there with my sisters for the whole summer (it was a visitation thing between my parents, she got us all year and for summer we’d live with Pops.) I was ridiculously shy (but also entirely too adventurous and curious to fit into that for very long) at the time. I’d been driving boats for several years already so my dad trusted me to take a boat out every once in a while. One day, early, he had me load up a big pontoon party barge with beer and hors d’ voeures and told me I’d be a captain for a day and give a tour of the river to some old people. I think that was one of those ‘coming out of your shell’ moments for me (possibly the beginnings of that arrogant asshole Drunk Chuck tm) and I confidently drove the boat full of people three to four times my age out onto the water with no instructions other than “show them the river, and feed them the crap I had you load up.”
I guess I was doing a good job being a tour guide as I pointed out my favorite places to visit along the river (gator holes, places where I could find snakes, manatee hangouts, cool looking rocks and trees etc.) because to a one, they all stared at me wide-eyed as I set the boat at a slow speed in a direction and started setting up their little snacks on a table and asked who wanted what for drinks. I’d kept my eye on where we were going and go back every minute or so and make course corrections or point something out (usually a big gator haha. I might have been obsessed with them at the time.) All of them asked how old I was and told me I was comporting myself with the competence and maturity of one twice my age. It really boosted my self esteem, as I’d always seem to eff up everything I tried to do. Some of them told me they weren’t sure that they could even do what I was doing, even with training. After a few hours of tour guiding, I took them back to the marina and skillfully parked and tied off the boat, then cleaned up after them. I got a few bucks from my Dad, but the best reward was the proud look on his face. He would bring my uncle’s around and talk me up, saying that my tour group was way happier with the excursion than any of theirs had been. It was good times.
I messed with gators all the time, learning how to approximate their mating call with my throat and get them to swim up to my little inflatable dingy. (never said I was smart back then…) and feed them chicken skins or whatever I’d pilfered from the kitchen (excuse me, GALLEY. Nautical terms and all.) We also had a pet gator we’d feed off the docks most days named ‘Stumpy’ since he was missing a rear foot. He was only about 2.5 feet long nose to tail and was not scared of human interaction at all. I was the only one who would pet him when he was swimming by. A few times I grabbed him by the midsection and stuck him on the dock, just to see how he’d walk with only three legs (wasn’t pretty) but he never snapped at me. Good gator, nice gator.
One overcast day my Dad, two sisters and I were out on the river teaching my youngest sister Kalie to ski in our little skiff. Kalie got up for the second time ever and we all cheered. A large houseboat then came up behind us with Kalie on the rope. What. The. Fuck. (If you have ever been out boating, this is probably close to rule #1 of no-no’s) She was barely holding on out there and some douchebag decided to follow us? My Dad and I started yelling and waving them off, when Kalie caught wind of the danger and looked behind her. She immediately fell. My Dad, with fire burning in his eyes and the reddened skin of someone on an unholy dose of adrenaline yelled “HOLD ON!” to my older sister and I. We did and he punched the little boat’s oversized motor to full throttle and pulled a ski-doo like turn and played chicken with the fuckstick that was bearing down on helpless Kalie. I screamed a battleshout (which did not, at any point crack and sound like a crazed yowling cat. Don’t look at me that way. It just didn’t.) at the boat as we made it clear that we would without hesitation plow right into that son of a bitch if he didn’t change course. We got to Kalie before they did and my Dad put the brakes on, perfectly putting us in between the behemoth and Kalie. The drunk at the wheel must have finally taken notice and slowed, coming down off a plane and turning off our course. The party on board looked at first like we were crazy, then saw my father and I’s wild eyes, my older sister weeping, and our youngest in the water with huge watery eyes. They started telling us how sorry they were and I started telling them to fuck off and showed them a few middle fingers. My Dad calmed me with a look and a hand swept through the air. He then said to the helmsman “You better watch where the fuck you are going next time or I will personally fuck your day up.” (I hadn’t heard my Dad curse like that since my parents were still married.) They immediately went on their way, and we packed my scared sisters and my furious adolescent self in for the day.
I think I learned that day that righteous anger and pounds upon pounds of adrenaline can be used very effectively with the right mind behind it and for great good. I wasn’t afraid of it anymore after that. I could take action without freezing up. I used that to great effect in school from then on. (I got beat up a lot, till I came back from that summer.)
Funny, I still get mad recalling that story. Those assholes.
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