Chesapeake

I grew up on boats. We didn't have yachts, but that is because my parents thought that sounded snooty, so we had 45' boats, which (honestly) could be referred to as"yachts." So much of my blogging is about my mother but I've had little to so far about my dad and his boats.

He and I were a lot alike. He cut people off instead of fighting the good fight, was fiercely, but quietly religious, loved his good Scotch, his unfiltered camels, his kids and his wife. My parents had quite a love story, and I think it was probably the hardest on him when she slipped from 'a little eccentric' into certifiably insane. Anyone who knew them as young couples knew that they were in love and always showed their kisses throughout the day. As time went on, my father came home later and later - and being a kid, I didn't know why. Now I can just imagine. Maybe it was a mixture of both her pills and booze that lead to the slip, but my father just retreated.

I often say, he died young on purpose. He was Catholic. There would be no divorce in sight... just dying. So he did. I was twenty-three.

Our boats were the best times of our life. All of the pressure seemed to disappear as the salty air of the Chesapeake crept into our noses. I can close my eyes and smell the mustiness of the cabin and we had rituals around that time that were unforgettable. No photos anymore, just memories. There was no arguing, and no ranting guilt trips or belittling behavior... there was just the ritual of sailing. The first ritual was getting to the boat which my dad always had moored on the Sassafras River near some obscure farm within the depths of Maryland's Delmarva Peninsula.

The Sea Lion

My dad didn't believe in nice cars and usually had a stripped, used Rambler or unmufflered Bonneville. We even had one of those tiny Metropolitans at one time. My dad was a sailor. He was a husband and a dad, yes... but in his heart he was just a sailor - I knew that his mind was always wondering when the next time we would be able to get to his beloved boat. The first ritual was to drive from Philadelphia to Maryland and go down numerous dirt roads to get to the cheaper mooring for our boat. No yacht clubs for the Wilkinsons. Right around the middle of the trip passing many farms he would say,"so Nim, you ready"? The car stopped. Thick dirt smoking was circling around the car. Without any discussion, I would get out of the backseat, and we would switch seats and I drove the rest of the way. I was eleven. It was a stick-shift, and with my long legs, I could reach the clutch with ease. This was a family ritual. I don't have any memory of my brother wanting to drive but I was a pro by the time I was a teenager. My parents just sat back, lit up cigarettes and had Nim get them to their destination. Was it trust or pure craziness - I'm still not sure.

My dad allowed me to do unusual things because he always had that eccentric side too. I wasn't sure where that side ended and my mother's eccentricities started, but on the boat, there was no tension. There was music, laughter, hundreds of Pitch card games, great food, explorations on islands, catching crabs off the side of the deck, and my ritual of meditation which I still do today. As soon as we took off towards the Chesapeake Bay, I disappeared to the bow sprit and with absolutely no harness, or safety belt, I bounced mercilessly towards the horizon dreaming about anything and everything. I had God there. It was God to me being there - one with nature. As I look back it was so irresponsible to allow me to be there because it would have been easy for me to topple into the dark water but no... I was allowed to do most things. By the time I was fourteen, I was smoking cigarettes as they were in the stern laughing away in their own little world. I remember doing the dishes, but other than that it was just about having fun. No rules. No chores. We ate crabs, grilled steaks, and played our guitars and sang until all hours of the night.

Music was a part of me from the time I remember breathing. And music was a way to disappear, and find peace when the good parts started to fade. I do this now, as you can see. We had so much fun, and it saddens me to think that my fun childhood was marred so drastically by my mother's insanity as she got older. We had experiences on those boats that were life-changing, and it amazes me that I married a man who has land-locked me for over forty years. grrrr-central. I was so glad that sailing was my childhood because it was unforgettable.

Why is it that the bad memories crush all the good ones in your mind?

I'm glad I took this time out today to remember the rituals of the boat. The four of us had so.much.fun and it is something I'm kinda glad I dug up in my chemo-brain today.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

This one is for you, Chris... Happy Birthday.