Growing up on the water . . .

Growing up, Memorial Day weekend was the beginning of what was known in our family as “boating season.” My parents bought their first ski boat when I was just two – and I spent almost every summer weekend for the better part of the next 20 years on the water. I honestly didn’t know that you could take a vacation that didn’t involve a lake and a boat until we visited Florida when I was in middle school.

Daddy skiing

I still remember those Memorial Day weekends and those first dives into bracing water that had yet to be warmed by the summer sun.  Some people would ease into the water, one foot at a time, trying to acclimate themselves to the cold water. Me? I always felt it was better to just jump in.

My first few years of “boating” involved being engulfed by a lifejacket with my ponytailed-head bobbing around the water like a little cork. When I got tired, they’d either put me down for a nap on the shore (another term solely used in boating season) or they’d tuck me in around a bunch of lifejackets under the front-end of the boat. By the time I reached four or so, my Dad would put me on the front of his two skies and we’d ski around Green River. It was also on that aptly-named body of water that I learned to water-ski on my own when I was six.

Rock Quarry at Kentucky Lake

I still vividly remember when I learned to water-ski on one ski – also known as slalom skiing. Our vacation each year involved going to Kentucky Lake for anywhere between a week and 10 days, and it was the summer I turned nine – on the last day of vacation – that I finally succeeded in learning to slalom.

That last morning of vacation we checked out of our cabin at Moore’s Resort and spent the day on the water. While I had tried all week to slalom, I hadn’t succeeded in staying up for long.  It grew to be late afternoon and since we still had to drive a couple hours home, we went back to the marina and Daddy started loading the boat on the trailer that Mommy had backed into the water (she was better than anyone else at that).  As I wiped away a few tears that were rolling down my cheeks because of my disappointment, my Dad looked around and after realizing the reason for my tears, announced we were heading back out on the water.

Our second boat - Daddy at the helm and
Mommy in the blue shirt

Kentucky Lake has this wonderful little cove called The Rock Quarry that is tucked away in a corner of the lake. Because it’s protected from the wind and other boaters, the water is usually calm. We zoomed back across the lake to the Quarry, my hair flying in the wind, and over the next hour my Mom and Dad worked with me until I finally succeeded in staying up on one ski for an extended time. Exhausted (all of us), we headed back to the marina, pulled the boat out of the water for the second time and headed home. I’m sure I was exhausted and probably slept most of the way home, but even today, I’ll remember that summer day as one of the best days of my life.

So today – as I thought about the true meaning of Memorial Day – I also took a few minutes to reflect on my childhood in Kentucky, think about those lazy summer days on the water, and remember that on that one afternoon – as daylight waned on Kentucky Lake – all that mattered to my parents was my success.  They were the best parents ever and we miss them so.