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Despite the rocky start, sailing proved to be a wonderful father-and-son hobby. The others sailed but over the next two summers, it was Dad and me who spent the most time on the Wildflower. Eventually, we figured out how to sail on our own. We learned how to reach and run and come about and jibe and cast off and land. By summer’s end, I was slaloming around the buoys and the boats moored to them.
Sailing taught me to pay attention to details. Sailing is about harnessing the wind, and to make the most of it a sailor has to know what the wind is doing. I learned to watch the surface of the lake, which offers many clues. Waves can indicate the direction and intensity of the wind, and the most important, warn you about dead spots where there is no wind. I had seen my dad wet the end of his finger and hold it in the air to determine the wind’s direction. I was surprised to learn how often the wind changes direction. Small indicators can foretell big changes…
Early October brought the end of the sailing season and the close of the best summer I had ever had. That funny little black boat was my ticket to the good life. I thought sailing was better than anything at school or my bike or Little League or even television. After helping Dad pack the boat away in our backyard for the winter, I asked him how many days until spring.
"Too many," Dad said. "Too many." |
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Excerpt from Emerging Son
written by Tom Bengtson |
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