Blessing #25 -- A mighty wind

I am a Pisces.

At one time I swam more than 5 miles a week.

I get in my hot tub every night of the week.

And I live a mere 3.2 miles from the ocean, which I can never get enough of.

Given all that and my indisputable affinity for H2O, I'm not at all a fan of boats. 

In fact when it comes to boating I'm like a fish out of water. And yet my two daughters spent many a weekend aboard a Sabbitt (Sp) or an FJ or some other fakakta name, I have no clue about. Indeed when they were learning how to sail and trained many hours in Marina Del Rey, I was not exactly Dad of the Year.

Deb would drive them there and spend the day cajoling with the other moms at the yacht club -- it sounds fancier and pricier than it is -- while the girls tooled around the bay learning how to tic and then conversely how to tac. I didn't see much value in going because it didn't feel like it offered any valuable support. 

You see them for two minutes as they un-moor, go away for three hours and then another two minutes when they return and tie a sheepshead knot and secure their "boat" to the dock. 

Hardly, quality Daddy/Daughter time. Like when I'd go to their soccer games and watch them sit on the bench.

But on one occasion, a nasty foul weather early spring day, I was coaxed out of my man cave to watch Abby (pictured above) compete in a regatta, which still sounds like a great name for a pasta dish.

The wind was howling. The waves, even on this side of the ocean break, were quite formidable. Many of the girls had a tough time getting out of the gate and navigating the rough seas. When it came time for Abby to emerge I could feel the goosebumps rising below my windbreaker. 

Deb grabbed my hand and said, "relax, she'll be fine."

But within minutes she wasn't. Sitting on my flimsy camping chair positioned on the edge of the swaying dock, I watched as a wicked wind slammed her topsail or her jib or her mainsail or whatever the fuck they call these things, into the drink.

I jumped out of my seat. 

No one else did. Not the other mothers. Not the training staff. Not even Deb. 

I watched helplessly from a 1/4 mile away while my daughter struggled to undo what Mother Nature had done. Was I panicking? You're damn right I was. 

I was seconds away from ripping off my multiple layers of clothing and diving in the chilly, oily water to save my little girl.

"Rich, just give her a moment," said Deb, "she's got this. Just wait, you'll see..." 

And before I could fully unlace my sneakers, Abby had righted the ship. And smiled. And waved to the people on the dock, including yours truly who had almost unveiled his unmanscaped simian body to an unsuspecting crowd.

"This is the important part of learning to sail, the adversity. The struggle is good. This is where they learn and gain confidence and know that they have it within themselves to move forward. You can't give that to the girls, they have to learn it, they have to earn it" Deb explained, after I put my clothes back on and re-tied my sneakers.

And of course she was right.

Important lessons now as my daughters and I continue to navigate the toughest waters of all, the loss of Deb.