Tiny Rowboat

My dad built a wooden boat for me when I was five or six. My brother, Tom, and I loved this boat. It was a scaled down version of a standard rowboat. There may or may not be a photograph of us standing next to the boat.

Much of my life was spent on the shore of Lake Huron. At that time we actually lived right on the beach but were discouraged by our mother from going into the water without permission.

Dad apparently had said nothing about the boat to mom. He built it and gave it to us without her knowledge. He also had grown up on the lake and had always wanted a boat, so why not live vicariously through his boys? I should point out that my father was no older than 27. Mom was 25. As young parents they did not seem to worry about what could go wrong if two little boys dragged the boat, of which my mother still was unaware, down to the water and pushed out into deep water.

Dad was at work. Mom was ironing sheets when she noticed the unnatural silence. She called our names. Neither kid showed up. Mom searched the house, the yard, the neighbors. Her heart started beating faster. She looked toward the lake, horrified, and could not believe what she saw: Two little boys in a miniature rowboat.

The following day Tom and I were given a large box of candy with no explanation. Neither Tom nor I understood that the candy was a form of payment. We were unaware until after we had gobbled the bulk of the candy that our boat was gone. We wanted the boat but were told it was too late as the candy could not be given back.

Our little rowboat had been given by dad to an older boy, the neighborhood bully. At the time it felt grossly unfair.

In retrospect I realized dad did not like that boy who unfortunately did not drown in Lake Huron.