A Childhood Sailing With Their Dad
The childhood trips remembered most:
the channel islands off the coast.
Embarking from Redondo Beach,
most were within a one day’s reach.
Though absent wind, the distance grew;
a one-day trip could stretch to two.
Too much, the seas would chop and swell,
and that could be a queasy hell.
But land ahoy! We’d come alee
and gain some shelter from the sea.
Drop anchor in a quiet cove,
make egg burritos on the stove.
Then beach the dinghy on the sand,
and practice skipping rocks by hand.
At night, a tinkle in the sea
brought phosphorescent shouts of glee.
The stars, like diamonds, sparkled bright
far from the bustling city lights.
The sleeping bags, the damp, the cold
add to the fun at ten years old.
The time flew past; before you know
it’s Sunday morning: time to go.
With anchor up and mainsail taut,
the isle recedes, a distant dot.
The thought of school might bring despair
one thought kept me from going there:
for I was sure no classmates had
a childhood sailing with their dad!
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