I'm flying, Jack!

I like to say that I was raised on a boat. When I was eight years old, my dad bought a boat. That purchase led to dozens of trips to Lake Powell and various other lakes in Utah and surrounding states. I loved the smell of my boat--a mix of gasoline, lake water, and sunscreen. I loved the feeling I got as I sat at the very front of the boat and my dad punched the gas. I'll admit, to this day, I still spread out my arms Titanic style and say, "I'm flying, Jack!"

Though my love of boating was cultivated at a very young age, there was one aspect of boating that for the longest time I was terrified of: skiing. The idea of strapping a heavy board unto my feet and then being yanked out of the water scared me to death. Add in some horror stories I'd heard about skiing, and I refused to try. I was not up to the challenge of exploring the world of skiing. I was much too comfortable sitting on an inflated tube and being dragged behind the boat.

Finally, my dad had enough of my reluctance. He managed to bribe me to get into the water, but threatened me when I said I was done trying. Again and again, the boat circled around with the rope. Again and again, the rope slipped from my fingers as I was "trying" to get up. Finally, it clicked in my ten year old brain that I wasn't going to be able to get into the boat into I at least got up. So mustering all my strength, I held unto that dang rope until I popped up out of the water.

I was only up for a few seconds that first time, but I was introduced to a whole new world. It was a feeling even more exhilarating than sitting at the front of the boat. I really was flying along the calm surface of the lake. It was an ethereal experience and I still remember it vividly. I had found a whole new world, and from that moment on, you had to beg me to stop skiing.