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, and he wouldnt let anything happen to me. Would he?I climbed into the dinghy and my mum shot my dad a glance and told him to be careful. I wasnt really listening. I was imagining all the wild adventures we would have, all the amazing things we would seeMy brother was biting his nails and we waved. My dad warmly reassured him, and told me we were just going around the rocks once then coming back. I didnt care. I was young and had never experienced anything as exciting as this! I pictured my dad and me as pirates sailing off into the sunset, capturing mermaids and burying treasures on tiny sandy islands in the middle of the ocean.
My dad climbed in with me and the boat shook. He picked up the oars and pushed off from the shore. I felt my little heart beat faster (out of excitement? Out of fear?) and my dad began to row.
The sea was surprisingly green under the grey sky, and I remember it was the kind of green that made me think of the murky, chipped paint on the swing in the park on which I had first learnt to swing by myself. In my childish mind, I was fascinated by the wonders held before me. I chatted happily to my dad about silly things, like the sharpness of rocks and why the sea is salty. I never listened to the complicated scientific answers he gave me; I just sat there, admiring the world.
Its interesting looking back on how I saw the situation then and considering how I would take it now. It seemed so amazing and exciting; now I realize that if I was to relive the experience, it would be boring and quite scary, as I would be thinking the same thoughts as my dad must have been, which mainly revolved around capsizing. And I remember it so clearly! Some conversational bits I have had to fill in when re-telling this story, but everything else is all there. My dad doesnt seem to remember much about the whole thing now; maybe he blanked it from his memory, like he has done with a lot of the things that caused my mum to shout at him. But, so far,...
Bibliography: My experiences and imagination.
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