His Mother's Son
This morning Dylan, more cautious than Gabe, volunteers for the ducky. He makes it through some riffles, and
then we come to a series of a crashing waves and one shoves him out of his boat. I watch him bob through the
rapid turning his head in search of me. I tell him with my eyes he’s ok, though the mountains of water engulf his
small body. When the current calms, I hold his boat as he climbs back in. “What did I do wrong?” he asks.
He is my perfectionist, and I know he will spend the rest of the afternoon thinking, not of the rapids he mastered,
but this one. “You just need to grow,” I tell him. And it’s true. He’s barely seventy pounds in a boat filled with air
that skims atop the surface. But he looks at me disgusted, like he can’t believe I don’t have something better to
offer him.
“O.K. When a wave or a hole comes, make yourself heavy in front of the boat. Lean hard and dig into the wave
with your paddle,” I tell him, knowing it’s not an easy thing to do. The huge wall of water comes at you and
instinct says lean away.
Later, when the current quickens and we are heading towards another rapid, Dylan says, “I don’t want to do this
one,” too late for there to be any choice. “You can do it,” I say, “Follow me.”
The big wave proves more powerful and weirder than I figured, a sort of corkscrew, and I almost go over when I
hit it. In fact, two adults in our party get separated from their boats. My heart races, and I wish I’d prepared
Dylan better, reminded him one last time to hit it straight. I wait at the bottom in the eddy, and then I see the
yellow blades of Dylan’s paddle flashing in the foam. I see him hit the wave, and fall backwards into his boat, foot
flailing. Then he rises and throws his body forward until it’s as solid as stone. He paddles hard, and when the
water calms, he is still straight in his boat. He barely looks at me, but I detect his small smile.
This morning Dylan, more cautious than Gabe, volunteers for the ducky. He makes it through some riffles, and
then we come to a series of a crashing waves and one shoves him out of his boat. I watch him bob through the
rapid turning his head in search of me. I tell him with my eyes he’s ok, though the mountains of water engulf his
small body. When the current calms, I hold his boat as he climbs back in. “What did I do wrong?” he asks.
He is my perfectionist, and I know he will spend the rest of the afternoon thinking, not of the rapids he mastered,
but this one. “You just need to grow,” I tell him. And it’s true. He’s barely seventy pounds in a boat filled with air
that skims atop the surface. But he looks at me disgusted, like he can’t believe I don’t have something better to
offer him.
“O.K. When a wave or a hole comes, make yourself heavy in front of the boat. Lean hard and dig into the wave
with your paddle,” I tell him, knowing it’s not an easy thing to do. The huge wall of water comes at you and
instinct says lean away.
Later, when the current quickens and we are heading towards another rapid, Dylan says, “I don’t want to do this
one,” too late for there to be any choice. “You can do it,” I say, “Follow me.”
The big wave proves more powerful and weirder than I figured, a sort of corkscrew, and I almost go over when I
hit it. In fact, two adults in our party get separated from their boats. My heart races, and I wish I’d prepared
Dylan better, reminded him one last time to hit it straight. I wait at the bottom in the eddy, and then I see the
yellow blades of Dylan’s paddle flashing in the foam. I see him hit the wave, and fall backwards into his boat, foot
flailing. Then he rises and throws his body forward until it’s as solid as stone. He paddles hard, and when the
water calms, he is still straight in his boat. He barely looks at me, but I detect his small smile.
5