Paying tribute to a Wonderful Dad

Bits and pieces of an essay I had to write for school. Hopefully this makes sense blog style and fast style since I am also a student/mom. Sharing it is about saying thank you to my Dad for lots and lots of outdoor memories.:)

(my Dad and brother on one of our outdoor explorations)

      My first word was on a lake. It was fish. I was one of those little critters (as my parents called me) that could be happy all day in the middle of the desert. Maybe I didn’t have much to say, but I like to think I broke the silence to point out something beautiful. It was quite the event I am told. I even tried to wait past two years old to speak, however apparently there was some merriment about this little fish of mine. It was me, caught in the moment. I was lured in by some expensive fishing lure; bright and shiny.  Just long enough for everyone to gather around and say “ look, what she just did”. She spoke. She swam. She did.

            Being raised on a lake that was a few miles from my family home had its perks. I not only had my first word as fish, but I was also told I swam like a fish. We could play all day in that pool called, my Dad. He is the one that taught me to swim and water ski (one of my favorite sports). When I was little he took time to purchase little water skis. He even tied them together with little bolts attached them to twine that could be taken off when I grew into my legs. He patiently taught me to crouch down, lean back, and keep the skis together. It was a painstaking process but eventually a success. It was by far an accomplishment. It was me looking at his smiling and patient face knowing that if Dad believed, so would I. That was a layer. A good one. A layer that taught me he would always be there.
     Becoming an explorer was also important at my lake home. We were a family fortunate enough to have a nice boat and that is how we became explorers. If you have ever camped overnight by people you would understand why we preferred to camp alone. We worked hard to scout out a good spot and then it became ours for the day. Sometimes we found our own island. My mission was to conquer it. If it was an island, I found the parameters; if it was just a spot, I found the look out’s, the nice views, and the play places for forts. My family took care of the rest. Maybe I was supposed to stay and set up camp, however in spite of it, I most likely didn’t. I just jumped off the boat and started searching high and low for whatever my imagination would let my new place become. I remember being a kid so much that the lakeside was more than a lakeside. It was a place that was alive with fantastic tales of being Indians that built clay vases to archaeologists searching for treasure.

            On occasion, I would find the non-treasure. The biggest fortune I found was a day I decided to explore a rattle snake. I spent the rest of the day on the boat, never to return to the island of doom again. I survived. I also learned a valuable lesson, how not to just jump before leaping. It reminded me and still does to this day, that life is fragile. That even in nature, full of beauty and wonderment there are warnings of caution. That was added into the sediment. Life is that way. It can be so peaceful and serene and then when you aren’t looking hard enough, you can step right on your very own rattlesnake.

            Lisa, my sister and best friend, came too. Only she wasn’t as excited. She liked camp, Twinkies, Grandma’s lap around the campfire, but despised exploration. Even to this day she isn’t really a camper like the rest of us, although she fits right in like the best of us. She is also one whom I admire and respect. At every moment she has made decisions in life that I admire. Maybe she is just better at figuring things out and didn’t need a place to play and discover. She played with me all day despite her derision. I would set up the forts and give her some mud to make clay pots and we would play for hours. She even stole some of my Mother’s spoons to dig in the mud right along with me. Even though she hated the part about not showering and sitting at a lake with no television, she still loved spending time with us as a family. That is how kids become best friends. It is in those moments where we have to force ourselves to be together that we become more than just acquaintances in the next room. We become friends forever.

            To this day, when I think about that lake of mine, I remember its beauty and vastness. It was a man-made lake in Arizona where we stole from the Colorado River just to give us access to memories like these. When grandfather got his pilot’s license, for the first time, when I was twelve he taught me to see this lake from a different angle. He took me up, we flew and then he took me down. He even taught me about ruttier systems for the wings and how to land the plane all on my own. It was one of my bravest moments and taught me that I could conquer anything. Just like Grandpa, I could become a pilot through study and effort. I could soar over every memory I ever made on that lake and conquer it even more than I had before. It was my lake and I could see it more clearly. And then I went back the next weekend for mud pies a la mode.

            When we got really bored in the afternoon sun, camping on the lake we would leave camp for more adventures. One of my favorites was throwing the anchor over the side of the boat in a good swimming spot. We would find a shady area by a majestic mountain and jump of the side of the boat. We would swim for an hour or two. Our dog “Howler” would always come along for boating outings. And like clockwork every time he would howl by the side of the boat. Our giant wolf-dog would screech and holler just because he couldn’t find the courage to jump in, however he couldn’t find courage to not want to either. We were his family and he wanted to be with us. Most occasions my Dad would finally just throw him in. He looked so funny in half panic doggy paddling all over the place. At least he was there, we were all there together. No distractions from the outside world. It was just us. Some of us wanted to be there and some of us did not. They were memories that couldn’t be tainted and couldn’t be erased. They were us, The Lawler’s.  

            Looking back, I reflect thinking about how absurdly brave I was on one occasion. I had been talking to one of my Uncle’s whom told me there were piranha’s in one part of the lake. I was sure my Dad would never tow me behind his boat to the well-known “infested” area, however he did. I have to say I was deathly scared, yet I overcame. I may have been silently screaming, “Don’t look down”, “don’t mess up” and maybe even praying, “Please God don’t let me fall” the whole way with a frightened look on my face, nevertheless I lived to tell the tale.  If I had looked down, I might have seen my own scared reflection. Would I have fallen if I saw the outward appearance of me barely holding on to my lunch, thinking I was never going to live again? I would like to think that somehow I would have pulled through. I know that day my inner reflection was of a teenager fighting pride, bravery and even my Dad who said “jump out there and let’s see you do this”. Since that day of water skiing over flesh eating fish I have crossed many other dangerous waters. I have even taken up a home in another state after going through a divorce, despite it all I am still that same girl. I am the brave girl, the scared to death girl and the girl that overcame flesh eating piranhas.
Advanced Composition, Mrs. Gaard's class.