My father-in-law, Ben, had a birthday recently and I was thinking about him and the old days. He’s mellowed considerably over the years, but back in the day, he was a scary character. Dating my girlfriend (now wife) Sue was always dicey.
As the father of three daughters, I get it. You gotta test these young bucks, see what they’re made of; can they take a few jabs, a coupla pokes, tough it out. You might be handing your Stradivarius off to this ape at the altar one day, to paraphrase Chuck Swindoll.
One Saturday I was at Sue’s house watching a movie when Ben came in. He was dressed in a pair of short swim trunks that were the style of the 1980s. “Let’s go water skiing,” he said. It wasn’t a question. My stomach dropped.
An hour later, we were idling in a rented ski boat in Crystal Lake. On board were Ben, Sue, Sue’s sister Barb, and me. Ben handed Sue a life jacket. “OK, honey,” he said. “Show us how it’s done.” She hopped in, got situated and happily managed to get up on her first try.
Crystal Lake was a man-made rectangular affair about 1/4 mile long and half as wide. Ben maintained a steady speed of about 15 mph and Sue waved, smiled, crossed the tiny wake a few times, and generally made a good showing. She finally dropped the tow rope. Ben put the boat in neutral and we putt-putted back to pick her up. “Well done, Sue,” he said as she climbed up the stern ladder.
Next was Barb’s turn, and it was pretty much a repeat of her older sister’s performance. We went a little faster, she crossed a slightly larger wake and took a few more laps than Sue, earning her praise from Ben.
Finally, it was my turn. Ben was unusually solicitous, helping me on with the ski vest, slapping me on the shoulder, giving me plenty of time to get situated behind the boat. The wind had picked up and the water had become choppy. I motioned go, and was pulled to my feet.
Our first two or three laps were about the same speed as the girls, maybe a quarter throttle. I was just beginning to enjoy myself when I saw Ben turn. We locked eyes for a second and he give me a crafty look. Although I hadn’t indicated I wanted to go faster, the pitch of the engine went up as we accelerated to maybe 25 mph.
After another lap, Ben added more throttle. The trees ringing the lake were going by faster and faster. This continued until the throttle must have been jammed against the cockpit wall because everything became a blur and instead of making easy turns in the corners of the lake, we were essentially racing around in a huge oval.
The engine roared, my skis made a bap bap bap sound on the choppy water and crossing the huge wake during turns became hair-raising events as I flew along at maybe 50 mph. I didn’t dare take a hand off the rope to motion to slow down. Ben’s crafty look had became a gleeful grin.
The end was inevitable: I swung out wide, accelerated, and as I crossed the wake, one of my skis dug in. I flew out of my skis like a cartoon character and landed 20 yards away on the side of my head. Hitting the water at that speed is like hitting the ground and I saw stars, followed by instantly by shooting bolts of pain from my neck to my forehead.
I was holding the two halves of my skull together when the boat idled up to me. Ben looked a bit concerned for a fleeting second, but when he saw I was not bleeding from the ears, he broke into a wide grin. “We’ll have to get you to slalom next time,” he said. As he turned, I saw his shoulders shake quietly with suppressed laughter.
Finally, it was his turn. I drove, and from the get-go, he was impressive: jumping the wake, swinging out wide until he was almost even with us, leaning over until he could trail a hand in the water. The girls clapped and cheered.
OK Pal, I thought. Let’s give you a taste of the Speed Racer treatment.
As I doubled, then tripled our speed, the hot dogging was replaced by a no-frills grim determination to avoid my fate. I could see him also struggling with the bap bap bap, the huge oval, crossing the wake.
I felt I had made my point…after all, he was Sue’s dad and I owed him some respect…and reached for the throttle to ease back to give him a nice finish. Too late. I heard the girls scream and turned around just in time to see a huge geyser of water where Ben should be.
I circled back, put the boat in neutral, and extended a hand. As I pulled him aboard, his expression was unforgettable: A curious mixture of annoyance, amusement, but something else…a grudging admiration. The skinny dude dating his daughter had actually had the stones to give him a taste of his own medicine.
He looked at me, not the girls, and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve had enough for one day. You?” I nodded and he grinned and gave me a slap on the arm before settling into the driver’s seat.
The two-day headache I had afterwards was worth it; I had climbed the first step of respect.
My little corner of the world 