A Memorial to Remember

I have come to an important desicion.

I do not like boats.

Now, I'm not on boats all that often. Last time was back in my PLNU days during sophomore year. But this Thursday, I found myself aboard the Dawn with my mother, step-dad, uncle, and Captain John for a four-hour tour.

Perhaps I should explain. We were there to hold our own memorial service for my Grandpa. He never wanted a funeral after he died and his wife honored his wishes. So after he died no service was held. Except by us. On the boat.

My Grandpa was a career Navy man, and he loved the sea. He used to go deep sea fishing, and one of our favorite photos of him is with a 250+ lbs. marlin being held up by a crane, while Grandpa stands proudly next to his catch.

A tour of San Diego harbor and bay seemed a fitting way to remember him. And since the Navy would be scattering his ashes at sea, our Captain even consented to take us out of the harbor and into the open sea for a bit.

Yeah, bad idea.

We moved our way out of the slip, past other boats with names like Sea-Questered, Sea-Esta, and Alohomora (no joke... I took a picture of that one!), and our ride through the bay was pleasant, calm, and relaxing. We got to see seals congregating on a bait dock. A ginormous Navy cruiser (not sure what exactly it was called, not an aircraft carrier, but still HUGE), passed by us. My uncle, also a career Navy man, explained the markings on the ship, and why the anchor was painted gold.

Then we got out to open sea. With 25mph winds. Salt water flying. And huge, rocking swells. Pleasantness abrubtly came to an end while I tried desperately to hold on to the rail and my Wendy's lunch. I wanted to sue Dramamine.

Captain John finally turned us around, but before we could reach the safety of the harbor, one of the lines in the sail snapped, and we were forced to stow the sails and use the motor. It was that rough.

And it was then, in the midst of the wind, water, and rocking that I made my big desicion.

I do not like boats.

Give me planes, trains, and automobiles any day. Heck, I'd even take that double-decker bus we rode through the Andes in Peru with our drunk bus driver driving 60 mph up steep, dirt, mountain roads.

But no more boats.

I think we all gave a collective sigh of relief when we got back into the harbor. Once in calmer waters, we were able to have our memorial, talk about Grandpa, and cry our tears. Which was the whole point in the first place, if you'll remember.

The memorial was a healthy, closure-bringing thing, and I'm glad we did it. But boy, oh boy, was I glad when, at 7:30, I was back on terra firma.