Story of a Childhood Memory - 'My Desert Island Adventure'
In my experiences that followed this particular adventure, I found that not everything is the same as you see it. I was young, six and a half years old, and back then, I thought I was so grown up. Its funny how the older we get, the younger we feel we are. But I think six is a pretty reasonable age to enjoy an adventure like this one.
Buying a dinghy doesnt seem like the most exciting thing in the world but back then it was, when I would imagine myself as a pirate sailing off and discovering treasures. But my real life adventure that happened in that little yellow dinghy was much more exciting to me than that.
I dont know exactly why we bought that dinghy in the first place; it aggravated my mum so much. My dad was always one for buying on impulse, and as far as I was concerned, that was an advantage. To my mother, however, it was a fault, as it was this time, and she was not happy about the purchase. My dad ignored her and decided it was the perfect day for a sea voyage. My brother, being the cautious one (or maybe just didnt trust Dads rowing), stayed in the café with my mum.
The beach was a pretty little one. It was rightly called Woody Bay and was tucked away in a little corner of North Devon. I had spent my holidays finding secret rock pools and caves in the jagged rocks sticking out of the sand. This time, however, I seemed to have explored the entire beach and was open to the wide world beyond the waves that splashed my feet. The dinghy was bright yellow, and about the size of a large dinner table. My dad had specially bought it blown up from the beach shop so we could go for a row on that day. Dad just dropped it on the shore and beckoned to me. I looked at him uncertainly and he just smiled, as if I should trust him with my life while he led me away on this tiny rubber dinghy. I edged forward and he told me I was totally safe, that hed had practice rowing before. Im not sure if I believed him at the time but I was old enough to know that he was my dad,
Buying a dinghy doesnt seem like the most exciting thing in the world but back then it was, when I would imagine myself as a pirate sailing off and discovering treasures. But my real life adventure that happened in that little yellow dinghy was much more exciting to me than that.
I dont know exactly why we bought that dinghy in the first place; it aggravated my mum so much. My dad was always one for buying on impulse, and as far as I was concerned, that was an advantage. To my mother, however, it was a fault, as it was this time, and she was not happy about the purchase. My dad ignored her and decided it was the perfect day for a sea voyage. My brother, being the cautious one (or maybe just didnt trust Dads rowing), stayed in the café with my mum.
The beach was a pretty little one. It was rightly called Woody Bay and was tucked away in a little corner of North Devon. I had spent my holidays finding secret rock pools and caves in the jagged rocks sticking out of the sand. This time, however, I seemed to have explored the entire beach and was open to the wide world beyond the waves that splashed my feet. The dinghy was bright yellow, and about the size of a large dinner table. My dad had specially bought it blown up from the beach shop so we could go for a row on that day. Dad just dropped it on the shore and beckoned to me. I looked at him uncertainly and he just smiled, as if I should trust him with my life while he led me away on this tiny rubber dinghy. I edged forward and he told me I was totally safe, that hed had practice rowing before. Im not sure if I believed him at the time but I was old enough to know that he was my dad,
Bibliography: My experiences and imagination.