Kayak Lessons
I don't recall ever having expressed an interest in kayaking.
Any activity which requires the participants to wear a helmet
and a life jacket is plainly something in which I should not be
involved. In fact, I pretty much avoid all sports which cannot be
played while holding a hot dog. Nonetheless, for Father's Day
this year my children purchased me kayak lessons at the local
recreation center.
Now, for you uninitiated, a kayak is a thin sliver of boat into
which the victim is hermetically sealed by way of a rubber
"skirt." Picture being adhered to a water ski by a suction cup
and being handed a paddle that looks like a helicopter
rotor -- that's kayaking. A kayak is about as stable as a guest
on the Jerry Springer Show -- it feels as if it will dive for the
bottom at the slightest excuse. Kayaks were invented by
Eskimos to be used in their death-wish rituals, and now can be
found every weekend on the local rivers, flitting about like giant
psychotic water bugs.
Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, my lessons were
scheduled to take place in a swimming pool, where I felt it
unlikely that I would encounter any white water. My instructor,
a bearded fellow named Tom, lined up six of us in our wobbly
boats in about five feet of water, and proceeded to tell us that
our first lesson would be in how to tip over.
How to tip over! That's like telling a pilot that his first lesson in
flying will be in how to crash. I held up my hand.
"Uh, Tom? I think my kayak already knows how to tip over."
Tom was amused. No, he explained, I had misunderstood.
When out in the rapids, the strong currents sometimes flipped
the kayaks over. But instead of sinking, the kayak's rubber
seal would keep the vessel buoyant, so all we needed to do
was learn how to flip back up. "Uh, Tom?" My hand was back
in the air. "Why would we want to go out in the rapids when
we have this nice pool?"
"Let's get started," Tom suggested. He walked us through the
whole maneuver, and then, probably concerned that I might
feel I wasn't getting my money's worth from these lessons, he
said we would start with me. He reach out and flipped my
kayak over.
I was plunged into the wet. Gamely I followed Tom's
instructions, rotating my paddle and thrusting my hips. I did not
rise into the air. Instead, the shallow end of the pool entered
my nose and began washing my brain in chlorinated water.
Tom heaved me back up, and I came out sputtering. "Whoa,
Mr. Cameron! You just missed me with your paddle, there,"
Tom warned.
"That's because my eyes are so full of water I can't aim
properly," I choked.
"Do you know what you are doing wrong?" Tom asked.
"Drowning?" I suggested.
"You're supposed to hip thrust AFTER you rotate the paddle,"
Tom chided. "Let's try it again."
Back into the drink. Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking of
my Grandfather, probably because I could hear his voice
telling me to "move into the light." I tried to remember the
advice he used to give me. "Son," he'd say proudly, "you're a
dim-witted lad who will never amount to anything."
Right, Grandpa! So why am I upside down under a kayak,
hydrating my lungs, when I could be at home on my couch
living up to my lack of potential? I gathered what little strength
I had and kicked hard against the bottom of the kayak,
popping out like a champagne cork. I swam over to the pool
ladder and climbed out.
"Mr. Cameron, where are you going?" Tom demanded.
I turned to face him and the rest of the class. I was still
wearing the rubber skirt from the kayak, which stuck out from
my hips like a Tupperware tutu. It may not have been my most
manly moment. "Tom," I said, "if God had meant for me to
kayak, he wouldn't have invented the outboard motor." I went
home and watched a bass fishing show on television.
Now, THAT'S boating.
[ by
W. Bruce Cameron Copyright © 1999 -- { used with permission } ]
Inspirational Humor
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