Of Paper Boats and Kayaks
A mother reflects on the passage of time via a kayaking lesson with her son
I try to look brave as I carefully lower myself onto the harmless-looking kayak. It wobbles dangerously, and all the instructions I had erroneously thought of to be “simple” vanish from my head. I glance around wildly— the boats and even the geese in the water look far bigger, far closer and definitely far too many around my tiny strip of plastic. How had I been fooled into this daredevilry!
“You’re doing great!” his voice floats to me reassuringly. “Now just grab the oar and follow what I do!” Sounds easy? It is so not, but I try to follow the jaunty figure ahead of me. Instead of looking at him, I listen to his brisk voice saying, “Okay, left now”; “Too close to that boat, steer right”; and the exasperated “The hand with which you write is your right one, why in the world are you turning left when I’m saying right?!”
Similar instructions, and the wide circle he makes with his kayak around mine like a guardian angel, guide me for the next few minutes. That angel would have precious little to do if I overturned the spry little boat, but I find solace in the thought that at least he’ll haul me out if the need arises.
But hallelujah, I don’t capsize the kayak and soon we are heading out into the open lake. I hear his encouragement: “Very nice! See, it isn’t as difficult as you thought? Excellent! Well done!” Even as half of my attention is on keeping the boat straight, I feel as happy as a duckling swimming successfully for the first time charged by the e...
I try to look brave as I carefully lower myself onto the harmless-looking kayak. It wobbles dangerously, and all the instructions I had erroneously thought of to be “simple” vanish from my head. I glance around wildly— the boats and even the geese in the water look far bigger, far closer and definitely far too many around my tiny strip of plastic. How had I been fooled into this daredevilry!
“You’re doing great!” his voice floats to me reassuringly. “Now just grab the oar and follow what I do!” Sounds easy? It is so not, but I try to follow the jaunty figure ahead of me. Instead of looking at him, I listen to his brisk voice saying, “Okay, left now”; “Too close to that boat, steer right”; and the exasperated “The hand with which you write is your right one, why in the world are you turning left when I’m saying right?!”
Similar instructions, and the wide circle he makes with his kayak around mine like a guardian angel, guide me for the next few minutes. That angel would have precious little to do if I overturned the spry little boat, but I find solace in the thought that at least he’ll haul me out if the need arises.
But hallelujah, I don’t capsize the kayak and soon we are heading out into the open lake. I hear his encouragement: “Very nice! See, it isn’t as difficult as you thought? Excellent! Well done!” Even as half of my attention is on keeping the boat straight, I feel as happy as a duckling swimming successfully for the first time charged by the encouraging quacks around.
The allotted one hour is over far too soon, and we find ourselves heading back to the shore. Literally and figuratively buoyed by my newfound skill, I even challenge him to a race which he loses— perhaps intentionally. However, the confidence takes a big dip when we reach the shore. Getting out of a dangerously wobbling kayak is far tougher than getting into it. My legs seem to give way under me and I eventually have to be hauled up like a sack of potatoes from the kayak, completely ruining the graceful leap I thought I’d manage.
But his words work like a charm to restore my hurt pride: “That was wonderful for a first timer! Really proud of you!” He then takes me to my favourite breakfast place as a reward that I have earned.
Was it only the other day when we had kayaked? It was indeed.
But was it also not yesterday when I held Sonny boy’s little hand tightly when we crossed a busy road? When my hands had held his tiny one, writing his first words, colouring his first butterfly, and also telling him how to tell his right hand from his left; Was it that long ago I showed him how to make a paper boat and push it just so with a twig?
Time does travel in circles. From that paper boat to the kayak, from the parent to the ward, mine has turned a glorious full circle!
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