I’m waterskiing! I’m actually up on my feet, it’s exhilarating!
Whooping, I manage a swerve across the wake and, wobbling, regain my equilibrium, gripping the bar, feeling strong and in control. The powerful motorboat that tows me seems solid, the pilot drives swiftly, confidently. The spray on my face is cool in the sunshine. But I see a wave coming our way from the left, and behind it, another. There are several, and each is bigger than the last. I will the pilot to turn into the rising water so we can rise with it. There’s no time to stop, to get out of the way. A sense of impending doom wells up in my centre; the young helmsman clearly has no idea what to do. A dark cloud scuds in front of the sun. She’s swerving erratically, and, attached, I have no option but to cling on and follow. What? The boat is finally nosing towards the wave but can’t surf over it. It is too late, the mountain of water is curling above the prow, and the entire boat is swamped, pulled into the depths of the green rushing torrent of power. I am pulled in too - down, down we go, I can’t breathe. My eyes are squeezed shut and, in slow motion, I seem to hear my own deep bubbling cry of ‘heeeelp’.
After an eternal two minutes, we are out! Bursting into the light! I’m gasping.
Miraculously the pilot is still on board, and I am foundering behind, desperately trying to regain my feet. I can’t let go. It is my child up there at the wheel, my baby, my toddler, my six year old…. No, my teenager. How did we get here? When did it happen?
She is yelling with glee now, as a second set approaches. She turns the boat successfully this time, and I’m exhilarated too, back up on my skis. We shout with joy as we crest the wave, but before I even see it coming, the world turns dark again and we are diving - desperation and misery. This is exhausting! I never knew it could be like this! I’m not sure I’ll make it through this hour….this year…..these years……
I let go, flexing my stiff, cold fingers and see the boat speeding away, the tow bar bouncing freely over the surface. I tread water, at a loss, my sodden hair in my eyes and tears dripping off my nose.
‘Here, I’ve got you. Climb in’, a friendly voice hiding a definite urge to laugh makes me turn, and a hand is stretched out. She is in a rowing boat, with a putt-putting little engine on the back, and I dimly recognise the face - another mum - we’ve bumped into each other once in a while on our journey through playgroups and schools.
Wrapped in a blanket I lean back, as she steers her boat steadily through the water. ‘Mine’s over there - can you see?’ and she hands me the binoculars she has ready. I can see hers, in a boat of his own. He looks steady at first, then wobbles wildly and nearly overturns. I gasp.
‘Don’t worry. He knows I am here if he needs me. He’ll come when he wants a hand. I found out I wasn’t getting anywhere skiing behind his boat, over here I’m a safety craft, and I enjoy pottering on in my own way.’
‘I need one of these’, I said.
‘Over there’. She nodded towards the shore, and I saw a jetty with lots of simple boats bobbing. ‘They are free - you can take the one that suits’. And she smiled as she turned in towards land.
As I climbed out onto the jetty I saw that her boat was called ‘Adulthood’. I scanned the others. I chose one that had a long name, but it beckoned to me. ‘Grown Up Equilibrium’. It came equipped with binoculars, spare life jackets and one of those orange floating rings with a rope attached for saving lives. There was also a good book and a pamphlet with ideas for words of blessing and power for parents to speak over their teens. In a cool box was a picnic feast, a bottle of wine and two glasses. And there was a telephone with a number for a hotline to a parent support group called ‘Been There (you’ll get through and it can be fun)’.
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