P.R. Seitz Bookseller: Stories

He Was a Timid Boy

He was a timid boy, the youngest of four, and the only son. His life lived in timidity was one of repressed horizons. Since his mother died, all of his relatives took to him with kid gloves. The asthma did not help. His grandmother, his sisters, and his aunt thought of him as frail in body and mind. Everything he did and one or even all three would look over his shoulder and say, "Tsk tsk, be careful now." Feeling himself held, he did not venture out on his own. Risk taking was not part of the curriculum of his boyhood. He worked hard in studies and read a great deal but emotionally he stayed at age six.

When he was twelve, his father bought a boat. The boat was for father and son to grow. Over the protests of the grandmother and the aunt, the father forged ahead, “The fresh air on the water will do his asthma good” he would say. “The activities of the boat will keep him clear of drugs that are going all through the schools. The work on the boat will sharpen his mind and his body. He can learn navigation, how to sail, riggings and how to fix things.” Through all this, the protests continued but did not stop the venture. They went every weekend, and when his father was re-married, his stepmother joined them. These were good times. The shelter of the Puget Sound ensured nothing too dangerous came their way. On Saturday nights, they would anchor in a sheltered bay, without the roar of cars or the shine of electric lights and no other sound than themselves and the wavelets slapping against the hull. The stars in that location and time are the most gorgeous things to behold. They are big, shining, and emboldened by a complete absence of shyness. The boy could not help but look up to them and admire them. Though the night was cold, the feelings evoked by seeing those icons of brilliant beauty kept him very warm inside.

The boy observed everything around him without actually participating. At school, the boy watched and listened. He would not play with the other children so much as observe them in the same manner as a sociology student preparing to write a report on a long lost tribal society. He noted every aspect of their behavior, disassociated from society in general in order to collect information and complete his report. He was a likable sort and everybody got on well with him; his observational methods were aloof and perhaps because of that his classmates and teachers sought his acceptance in the hope to be in that report of his with a good light. When other boys would play and talk with the girls he would observe that as well though he never had the courage to take the risk to speak with girls himself because his upbringing. It was in his mind that because of his frailty of mind and body he should avoid risk.

Then his father decided to take the boat and his wife and his son and travel to Alaska “The Last Frontier”. The place that is full of risk. His father wanted to protect him by letting him grow. When they went to Alaska, the usual people raised the usual protests. “How will the boy go to school? You cannot pick up and leave there are responsibilities, you must remain with society and follow the standard path, you cannot go off into the woods making your own path that would be far too individualistic. How will the boy learn to be a good member of society and follow its rules if you go off on your own teaching him such individualistic habits? He can never be a contributing member of society.”

Through these criticisms the father remained steadfast and the family pushed to Alaska. The boy would learn at home and as far as being a contributing member of society, remaining in the public school system in Seattle is hardly the pinnacle of societal expression it once was. The boy continued his schoolwork at home. This made him even more introverted and observational. While they lived in Ketchikan and spent the winter there, he had few friends though he enjoyed the ones he had.

If there was ever any risky work to be done on the boat or a dangerous situation encountered the boy would remain lodged in the side of the cockpit or would retreat down below. They caught a bit of swell on an open area of coastline between Prince Rupert and Ketchikan. The waves were twenty feet high and when the boat would rise to the top the wind would gust and shove them along but then as the wave passed under them the boat would lower itself into the trough and the wind would all but cease. It was an interesting time but they were hardly in danger to speak off. The boy sat in the cockpit and marveled as his father kept the boat steered on a safe course and his stepmother would adjust the sails without fail.

When they traveled on the boat the entire scenery and wildlife presented itself before him for observation as though he were viewing a movie. He would watch the white dots of the mountain goats high above them as they stood on the cliff side. He would observe them from the safety of the boat through binoculars. He would observe countless number of birds of all specie going through their regular routines of survival. The boy saw bears splashing in the tidal zones again from the boat and through binoculars. He would also watch whales, Orcas, and Dalls’ porpoise as they rose to the surface to observe the boat and the family. Outside Glacier Bay, one humpback in particular rose up two meters from their side and gave them the once over with its huge eye. That was a very humbling observation.

It was a crisp overcast day when he, his father, and stepmother were leaving Glacier Bay. The plan for the day was to cross the Icy Strait to Hoonah on a broad reach run. They set sail from the Glacier Bay dock and started out the day; the wind was not too bad, blowing about ten to fifteen. If they were lucky, they would have a nice reach directly across the Icy Strait. A broad reach is one of the faster points of sail for their boat. They headed south to where the bay opens up wider and wider as it reaches the Icy Strait. High cliffs on both sides enclosed the bay and they were unaware of what the weather was like out in the straits. They put out all the sail they had to make the run as quickly as possible; the full mainsail, jib and staysail and they didn't think it was going to be a rough day so they tied the dinghy and let it tow back aft. The wind was firm but not too strong and they were feeling good after having spent a couple weeks in Glacier Bay exploring every inlet they could find, seeing all manner of icebergs, the aurora borealis, seals and whales.

All that changed as soon as they passed the windward point. This is where the bay stopped and intersected with the broad open strait that led directly out to the ocean sixty miles away. The wind that had been at fifteen mph now doubled to thirty with gusts up to forty; they did not have enough time to react to it. A gradual increase would have given time to adjust and reduce the sails, even put reef points into the mainsail but they did not have that luxury. The wind suddenly appeared blowing right down the pipe of the Icy Strait directly and unabated from the ocean. Then because the Straits became shallower near Glacier Bay, where they were, the waves increased in height and became white foaming menaces. The increase of the wind’s strength made the boat move much faster and as they got closer to the midpoint of the straits they realized that they were getting into trouble and the boy’s stepmother and his father started to work feverishly to reduce sail. The waves struck in a very dangerous position, right on the broad side of the vessel. The swells that came at them were ten feet high and the wind lifted the water creating white crests on top that encircled the boat in roar and foam. At the high points of the swell, the boat would rock with each impact of the waves and the white foam would roar and fill their ears making it difficult to talk. His father stood tall in the cockpit holding the helm, his stepmother tried to work on reducing the staysail and then to reef the mainsail but progress was slow because of the bucking movements of the boat. Everyone was in a palatable sense of adrenaline knowing that they were in trouble and knowing that they had to work together to get through it and yet he was still a boy and it was all he could do to sit in the cockpit and stare wide-eyed at the spectacle happening around him. The boy was observing what was happening and not participating but hoping that the whole thing would go away and soon, he would wake up. The day that had started beautifully and peacefully and held such promise for a nice gentle sail across the Icy Strait now turned into a desperate struggle for life. A wrong move and the boat could slap down a full perpendicular and throw all three of them into the icy waters to die within minutes from hypothermia. The boy looked toward windward, down the middle of the straits; all he could see was wave after wave marching towards them with white military hats and terrible menacing grins. The boat rode sideways up each swell, was hit hard on the side by the white combing water, and then brought back to right only by the reverse counterweight of their keel. His father handled the helm with all of his strength; his stepmother was on the foredeck barely able to pull down a few inches of sail every five minutes; the boy then looked back at their towed dinghy and saw that it had filled with water and capsized creating a sea anchor, meaning they could no longer make any headway and they could no longer have steerage to bring themselves into the waves at the right angle. The boy's panic set in and he froze, his eyes wide open his mouth agape, his face pale and hands shaking.

His father, too, could see the dinghy behind them and he looked down at the boy and said, “Take the helm.” The boy did not respond. “Take the helm!” Again no response; a third time the father asked, “My boy! Come here and take the helm!” The boy stood there staring, unblinking.

His father leaned forward and grabbing the boy’s jacket right in the center of his chest picked him up with one strong arm and brought the boy close to his face; the father’s voice was firm and strong. His deep baritone voice washed over the boy’s ears penetrating the roar of the combing waters and surrounded the boy like a warm blanket. The father was yelling but it was clear that he did so only to compete with the roar of the sea. The boy was dangling from his father's hold on his jacket; his father looked the boy square in the eye.

“My boy, snap out of it - I need you.”

Those three words spoken from father to son in the midst of all that was happening around them had a huge impact. From then, the boy was a man. To be told by his father “I need you” the boy was no longer the one to be taken care of, the youngest son to be coddled, the only son to be protected from the world, he had a role to play, he had to participate in what was going on around him, he had skills and a capability to deal with any situation that he had not recognized until his father said, “I need you.”

The young man blinked three times, took a breath, and put his hand on the helm as his father set him down on the deck. The young man steered the course true. The helm pushed back and forth bruising his arms and hands and chest but he held firm and he held the boat steady while his stepmother brought the sail down and his father used the winch to bring the dinghy alongside and free them from the sea anchor that had threatened them and they were able to recover because the young man was at the helm. They were able to bring the dinghy on board in the middle of the Icy Strait and steer a course for the other side, for the inlet and to safety.

He was fourteen and had started the day as a boy and by the end of the day he was a man for being a man is not a physical thing it is the ability to show the mental strength to deal with any situation confronted; to deal with it stoically, appropriately and with firmness of purpose. That night when they anchored in the bay and the sails were put away and the deck cleaned up, the lanterns lit and dinner eaten his father brought out the rum and poured three cups of grog; they raised a toast to the day, a toast that no one was hurt and finally a toast to welcome a new crewmember and the rum, it tasted good.

After that, the young man’s entire attitude changed. He was no longer an observer; he was a participant. He was no longer a member of society, he was a leader. He would actively request work on the boat, taking risks not for the thrill but because these things needed to be done and he knew, he could do it.

A year later, on a passage off the coast of Vancouver Island, they were sailing along and noted that the masthead navigation light had expired. They were traveling into an area of a heavy marine traffic and that light told other ships and boats approaching that they were a slow moving sailboat. The stepmother and father were not nimble enough to climb the mast and replace it while underway. The young man knew this. Without hesitation, he volunteered to replace the bulb. He climbed the mast step by step, the over all venture was a grand risk, but there was no need to take a risk at each step. He was careful, thoughtful, and determined. He focused on each rung and not thinking or being concerned that he was fifty feet above the water on a moving sailboat, slightly heeled over in the wind and at night. When he got to the top, he did what needed to be done. He opened the canister that contained the burnt bulb, calmly checked it to ensure it was actually the bulb that was fault and not the connection and then replaced the burnt bulb with a fresh one and when the bulb shone brightly in his face he replace the canister cover, a job well done. He took a moment to look around and observe. The boat was far beneath him bordered by beautiful glowing green phosphorescence. He could take in the entire scene from bow to stern in a single glance. He looked off to the horizon and could see a fishing fleet with its high intensity orange yellow lights illuminating their aft decks. He looked at the sky and without the obscurity of the sails and rigging the stars seemed to reach down to him from their lofty positions as if to say that he was one of them today and he felt welcomed.

This, his father and stepmother could not see from the deck. These observations were his and his alone, they were the reward for having taken the risk to climb the mast and do what needed to be done and that is what he has remembered into adulthood, that there are tangible rewards to doing what needs to be done and that he can achieve what he wants in life not by following the herd but by taking risks and following his own heart. Those times on the boat gave him the courage to do so; those experiences enriched his life.

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