Christmas came and went. Every single gift exchanged at the Martin household involved our trip to Bora-Bora. I tried to talk my mom into going, but she just kept rambling on about her rotary club responsibilities. Older people take their shit so seriously, though I was actually really proud of my mom for it; we didn’t give her the credit she deserved. And if I was like her—slightly directionless—I was proud that at least I knew I had her heart.
We spend so much of our teen years and twenties fundamentally rejecting our parents’ philosophies. I’m talking about that period between fifteen and your late twenties when you think your parents are the most fucked-up people because they’re slightly flawed. These toxic thoughts create a storm inside of us. We’re so terrified that we’ll be just like them that we overblow their less-than-perfect characteristics into something worse than they are. But then we hit a certain age and, click, it’s as if a light switch flips. Suddenly, our parents don’t seem so bad. In my experience, it’s called acceptance. We’re not born with it, and it takes a while to cultivate.
I think accepting our parents is a way of accepting ourselves. Once we’re able to accept them, it’s like surrendering or choosing, as Adam would say. That’s the moment when we finally say, This is who I am, this is how I look, this is what I’m good at. I’m different from my parents, but I’m the same, too. I’m a human, walking around this lonely planet, taking one breath after another, trying to decide what’s right and what’s wrong. And although they have more life experiences, they don’t have the same life experiences.
After Adam, I was closer to my parents. It was undeniable. I was finally appreciating them for who they were.
* * *
WALKING TOWARD THE docks on the day of our departure, I could see my father on the bow of my boat, wrapping lines, wearing a satisfied smile. I saw Chucky carrying supplies in front of me, and I watched Dora come out and greet him, then bounce along next to his legs as he continued down the dock. I stopped to take it all in. The sky was clear and crisp. It was a new day. A new year.
A gentle gust of wind caressed my neck, almost willing me forward, but I stayed where I was. “You’re here,” I said, under my breath. “I can feel you.”
Chucky abruptly stopped, turned around, and spotted me standing at the top of the dock, twenty yards away. Carrying a box, he could only motion with his head toward the boat. “Come on,” he yelled.
I nodded and closed my eyes. The wind picked up again. “I’m going, I’m going,” I said, smiling, thinking about Adam, the smell of the ocean reminding me how connected he and I would always be.
28. Hope
Once we had been on the water for two weeks, Chucky began to think he was Captain Ahab; my dad would just stare out at the ocean, smiling for hours on end. I wondered what he was thinking but never asked. The look of contentment on his face reminded me of Adam. I think when you’re done searching for some of the bigger answers, you can experience this sense of awe again, like everything is different, covered in a new coat of paint. I appreciated what this trip was doing for my dad.
For me, I tried to see the beauty in every moment, but it was terrifying when the water was rough, knowing that I was the most experienced person on the boat. But then we’d get through it and I’d feel empowered, so I was getting something out of it, too.
What was even more terrifying was when the water was still at night and there was little wind to carry us. It would be quiet and dark, and we would just float in the middle of the vast sea. Chucky would be reading some dental crap with a flashlight on the deck, my dad would be down below, and I would be at the helm. The moon would glisten on the water and I would squint to make out something in the distance, but there would never be anything. This happened all the time, on almost every calm night. There was no one for miles and miles in front of us or behind us, only the stars above us and a world full of giants and mysteries below us.
It’s terrifying what your imagination will make you see.
The weather was fine, although a little chilly. Chucky almost killed my dad one day with the boom while he was tacking. He didn’t call out his command, which I had already been on his case for. The boom swung around and my dad turned just in time to duck. Chucky became my kitchen bitch after that. I couldn’t trust him with any navigational or operational duties, so he spent his time cooking our meals. It was better this way.
One night while I was lying in the dinette converted into a bed, but which didn’t remotely feel like a bed, I thought about my parents and marriage and how I was losing Helen to Roddy and how Adam, my magical dying man, was gone, too. I had Dora curled up by my side, breathing her stinky breath in my face. What was I going to do with my life? I scolded Adam in my head for giving me a million dollars and a boat. It’s hard to get motivated when you’re a millionaire in your twenties, but I knew the money wouldn’t last forever, and really, how could I complain? Poor me: healthy, young, vibrant, and wealthy. I knew I had to invest the money and find something to focus my energy on.
Just as I was dozing off, my dad came halfway down the steps and stopped. The deck lights silhouetted him; I couldn’t see his face.
“You up, Charlotte?”
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Yes.”
He came down and sat on the edge of the dinette bed with his back to me. I wished that I could see his face, but I could tell he was struggling to find the right words to say, so I didn’t ask him to turn around.
“I just wanted to say thank you, honey.” He reached back and put his hand on my head.
“This was your idea,” I replied.
“I mean, thank you for teaching me to sail. I love it so much. I didn’t know I would.”
“Oh.” I started to get choked up.
“You’re really good at it. I mean, you’re a really good teacher, Charlotte. And Dora . . . this dog, man, what a gem.” He pet Dora’s head. I was officially a dog person and a boat person, and my dad was proud of me. Ask me a year ago if I thought any of this would have been possible.
When I reached my hand out and intertwined my fingers with his, I felt one of his tears drop onto my arm. I didn’t know what he was going through, but it was more evidence of just how human he was.
“Is everything okay, Dad?”
His body jerked with silent laughter. “Yes, I’m just really happy and proud of you.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to try and talk your mom into letting me buy a boat, too.”
When I sat up and flipped on the light, he turned to me, smiling. I could see moisture still on his face. “You can use my college fund money if she tries to fight you on it,” I said.
He laughed even harder. “Oh, darling, that money was gone a long time ago.”
I laughed, too, then. “I guess I did the college thing more than most people, but with no real results.”
“At least you were willing to explore your options. I have to say, through all of it—nutrition, massage therapy, real estate, cosmetology school—this is the most natural thing I’ve seen you do, and I just wanted to tell you that.”
I nodded as I tucked that one away.
29. Drunk Socrates