The Little Anchor That Couldn't

Assignment #1, Creative Non-Fiction

It was the classic Cape Cod summer day. The sun shined bright through the gentle wisps of clouds, the wind made playful waves in the estuary reeds, and the wide stream sparkled as it flowed, making promises of the ocean to come. It was, as my dad put it, "no day to be dry".

My dad had borrowed a friend's sailboat for our vacation on the cape; a little thing, white and single-sailed, the perfect size to fit myself and my younger sister on an expedition to fish on the idyllic bay downstream. We left lazily, letting the current carry us out, my sister and I peering over the side, secured by lines tied to our overstuffed life-jackets.

Now, being the impertinent, precocious child that I was, I had some significant skepticism regarding the feasibility of fish-catching off a sailboat. In the course of stubbornly interrogating my father, I asked "How will we stop if it's windy? We'll be blown away!". Far too busy with trying to bait hooks and steer the boat at the same time, my father directed me to investigate the small compartment under the bow. Upon doing so, I discovered a peculiar object that I did not recognize. It was a dull-grey, somewhat lumpy, and a little larger than my head. A length of rope attached it to the boat, though for what purpose I could not, at that time, fathom.

"I found it!" I called back to my father, who was trying to untangle my sister from her own fishing line.

"Great!", he called back, "Throw it overboard!"

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"Throw it overboard!" my father repeated more insistently, endeavoring to stop my sister from twirling like a ballerina.

Having been scolded more than a few times before for letting things fall overboard, the instruction baffled me, but I wisely decided not to push my luck and hurriedly followed orders. There was a satisfying plop as the object fell into the sea, and I watched it with a sort of curiosity, wondering how such a thing would solve the problem of our drifting. I was quickly distracted, however, by the prospect of casting my own fishing line and promptly forgot the object, trusting in my father's infinite sailing wisdom.

It was my dear sister that noticed it first. The two of us were holding our rods in opposite directions, wondering just what the heck was so fun about this fishing thing anyway, while my father stretched out over most of the length of the small boat, taking up the serious job of making sure we didn't impale ourselves. I vaguely recall hearing my sister sigh, before suddenly exclaiming "Oh! Daddy, are we going to the beach?".

"Hrrrrmm?" my father mumbled, raising himself off the deck slightly at first, glimpsing out from under his hat, before abruptly sitting up. Following his gaze, I noticed that the beach was indeed quite a bit closer, as were the rocks that lined it like teeth. We had drifted quite aways, prompting my father to give me an inquisitive look.

"Seamus, didn't you cast out the anchor?" he asked me, looking out at the ocean.

"Uh huh." I nodded, pointing out at the ocean. "It's right over there."

"Right over..." My father's voice trailed off as he followed my gesture about thirty feet from the boat. He stared for a long moment, before turning to me.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

And all the while, the little anchor bobbed happily on top of the waves.

"Seamus..." he began, finally.

"Yes?" I asked, putting on my best innocent face. I had no idea what was going on, of course, but every child has a well-honed sense of when to use that innocent face.

"What did you throw overboard?"

"The anchor."

"Anchors don't float, Seamus."

"They don't?"

"No."

"Oh."

Another long moment of silence passed.

"I'm pretty sure that one's floating, Dad."

Needless to say, the offending object was pulled in and thoroughly examined. It was indeed an anchor, it just, well, floated. To this day, I never let my dad cast out an anchor without a friendly (infuriating) reminder to check for floating, to which he promptly asks if I think I'd make a better anchor if tossed overboard. Jesting aside, however, the young me learned an important lesson from that day. However, it is up to you, dear reader, to determine what that lesson is, for I cannot possibly remember.