The Grand Slam

 

Maybe my father loved the ocean and boats because as a little kid he lived on an island in Nova Scotia where his father was the lighthouse keeper.

Maybe he dreamed of owning a boat just because.

Married to my mother, who thought the ocean was something you looked at from one of Gloucester's beaches once or twice during the summer. 

For my mother social life revolved around Meadowbrook Golf Club, a few minutes from our house. Since my father loved golf too, that was not  hardship.

My stepmom was different. She listened and encouraged dreams. 

Although my father made a good living, two step kids, child support, a mortgage was reality that made buying a 28-foot cabin cruiser a dream - so he decided to build one in his Scituate, MA driveway. That he had never done much carpentry nor that he knew nothing about captaining a boat was not a deterrence.

The hull was delivered. The tools were bought. He went to work.

He took courses and read books and learned about engines and currents and whatever else he needed. 

Little by little the dream became reality. His neighbors teased him by calling him Noah. I do know he told me about leaving for work one morning to find stuffed animals lined up two-by-two to the boat. 

And then it was done - The Grand Slam, the name selected because he and my stepmom thought if they moored any port other bridge players might appear for nightly bridge games.

As the eldest child, I was selected to christen it. My then husband and I drove to Scituate where all my aunts and uncles were waiting. I took the champagne bottle and hit The Grand Slam...once...twice...three times before it broke. 

The Grand Slam was launched and immediately took on water. The hull was so dry from that the thirsty wood absorbed so much water my father feared his dream would sink. He spent the weekend bailing. It worked.

During the summer my parents lived on the boat. Aunts, uncles, friends took cruises with them up and down the coast.

I only had one ride. A storm came up and gave me the distinction of being the first sea sick passenger. I did enjoy being in port. 

My step sister was an asset. All my father had to do was have her start to tie up the boat in port and every strong young man appeared to help.

My father's dream was smashed literally by the blizzard of '78. Although The Grand Slam was well on dry land for the winter, the sea invaded land. Shards were found.

My father had retired to Florida and he and my stepmom had lived on the boat in the summer. 

No more.

In his late sixties, he wasn't sure that he had the energy to rebuild. It's okay to wake from having had your dream.