A River Runs Throu ... Oh Forget It
On Monday I stood next to the Ocoee River eyeballing the raft that was going to take us on our whitewater adventure. My fingers clutched the T-grip of my paddle, my torso was swathed in protective layers (actually a Personal Flotation Device, Class III rapids and above), and my wild curls were confined by a ridiculously bright yellow helmet.
I was ready.
Our little family vacation this year centered on this rafting trip. I was proud of my parents who were willing to indulge their daughter. I assured them they would have smiles on their faces afterwards. It would be fun! Different! Etc.! Having once done a rafting trip in 1987, they agreed to give it a try.
Our guide, who introduced himself quickly with a name that sounded like “PayDay,” was a cheerful, Opie-like individual who was not so much as tan as that all his freckles had run together. I thought we would get a guide that we had met at the outpost and who talked to our family for some time while we awaited our departure. But when Mom asked how long he had been a river guide he replied, “About three weeks.” Mom also pointed out that he tripped over his feet when he first introduced himself. I was glad when he took the raft of tween girls.
Anyway, PayDay ran through the instructions and reminded us, once again, that the most dangerous thing on the river was our paddle.
“Keep your hand on the T-grip at all times!” he yelled.
Mom immediately let go of hers as soon as we entered the raft, hitting my shoulder. I gently closed her hand around it.
We strategically positioned ourselves behind my Dad and Bro (the better to be shielded from large sheets of freezing water), and we were ready. One of PayDay’s instructions was, “Get down like James Brown!” when we were going through a rapid. That meant we were to throw our bodies into the bottom of the raft. Considering there was only about three feet of space for both my mother and myself, I decided that the command was actually more of a suggestion, although I did try.
However, about halfway through our trip I noticed that when PayDay yelled at us to get down, why, I was already down. And that Dad and Brother kept getting taller. And that it was harder and harder to reach out and “dig in” with my paddle. And that Mom and I were getting pounded by a lot of water.
At one point Mom shifted and I discovered I was actually sitting in the bottom of the boat. Turns out we had a large hole in our seating tube. So we scooted to the one in the back of raft and enjoyed a much more inflated, elevated view.
Our trip was a lot of fun, PayDay was a terrific guide, and we only hit one snag when one of the other rafts lost a junior higher (we found him again, no worries). At the end of the trip there were smiles, some sore muscles, and some pretty cool moments that will one day be the “Do you remember when’s…?”
I only get to see Mom and Dad about three times a year, but we are close. And I love having them here. Aside from all the little things that get done that I don’t expect – my vacuum cleaner, showerhead, and bathroom commode are all fixed, and the top of my dryer is cleaner than it has been in years (“Are you collecting lint, hon?” Mom asked in all seriousness.), I revel in the time I get to spend with them and with Brother.
They are precious and they are wonderful and they are mine.
I was ready.
Our little family vacation this year centered on this rafting trip. I was proud of my parents who were willing to indulge their daughter. I assured them they would have smiles on their faces afterwards. It would be fun! Different! Etc.! Having once done a rafting trip in 1987, they agreed to give it a try.
Our guide, who introduced himself quickly with a name that sounded like “PayDay,” was a cheerful, Opie-like individual who was not so much as tan as that all his freckles had run together. I thought we would get a guide that we had met at the outpost and who talked to our family for some time while we awaited our departure. But when Mom asked how long he had been a river guide he replied, “About three weeks.” Mom also pointed out that he tripped over his feet when he first introduced himself. I was glad when he took the raft of tween girls.
Anyway, PayDay ran through the instructions and reminded us, once again, that the most dangerous thing on the river was our paddle.
“Keep your hand on the T-grip at all times!” he yelled.
Mom immediately let go of hers as soon as we entered the raft, hitting my shoulder. I gently closed her hand around it.
We strategically positioned ourselves behind my Dad and Bro (the better to be shielded from large sheets of freezing water), and we were ready. One of PayDay’s instructions was, “Get down like James Brown!” when we were going through a rapid. That meant we were to throw our bodies into the bottom of the raft. Considering there was only about three feet of space for both my mother and myself, I decided that the command was actually more of a suggestion, although I did try.
However, about halfway through our trip I noticed that when PayDay yelled at us to get down, why, I was already down. And that Dad and Brother kept getting taller. And that it was harder and harder to reach out and “dig in” with my paddle. And that Mom and I were getting pounded by a lot of water.
At one point Mom shifted and I discovered I was actually sitting in the bottom of the boat. Turns out we had a large hole in our seating tube. So we scooted to the one in the back of raft and enjoyed a much more inflated, elevated view.
Our trip was a lot of fun, PayDay was a terrific guide, and we only hit one snag when one of the other rafts lost a junior higher (we found him again, no worries). At the end of the trip there were smiles, some sore muscles, and some pretty cool moments that will one day be the “Do you remember when’s…?”
I only get to see Mom and Dad about three times a year, but we are close. And I love having them here. Aside from all the little things that get done that I don’t expect – my vacuum cleaner, showerhead, and bathroom commode are all fixed, and the top of my dryer is cleaner than it has been in years (“Are you collecting lint, hon?” Mom asked in all seriousness.), I revel in the time I get to spend with them and with Brother.
They are precious and they are wonderful and they are mine.
posted by Lisa | 12:02 PM
4 Comments:
Isn't that the key? That they are YOURS? I mean, if they were mine-who knows what would happen.:)lol
I think that's the line that keeps families from killing each other. They're mine.:)
I love the comment that everything in your house is clean and fixed. It's nice to know that I'm not the only daughter who hears from her military-trained Dad that there is too much dust around ;) I love my Daddy...he can do anything!
jules - You are absolutely right. :)
rosieboo - Me too! He manages to find things I didn't even know was broken. I had no idea the downstairs toilet was leaking, or that all my vacuum needed was a new belt.
Oh, how fun!!! This post totally brought back a ton of memories. I love rafting and have also taken trips down the river with my family. I can't wait till my kids are old enough to experience that particular thrill!
I'm with you and Rosie--my parents are welcome to fix or clean anything they want when they come visit me!
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