Courage and Houseboats

The summer I turned eight years old, we took a week long trip to Lake Powell. We went with several other families and stayed on two large houseboats. All of the families had known each other forever so the kids on the trip had known one another our entire lives. We played and fought like siblings, and because I was an only child for the first 12 years of my life, I was thrilled to have other kids around.

Every morning, we would get up and head straight to the roof of the houseboat. Everyone would put on their life jackets and jump off the roof and into the cool water. I remember seeing little arms waving wildly and shrieks of delight as they splashed into the water. One by one, they would jump in and swim around below me. And everyday, I would be standing at the top, all by myself and terrified. The fear had nothing to do with the water; I’d already been swimming for four years at that time. My fear was the jump. I have no idea how high a houseboat is or how tall I was at age eight but at the time, the thought of that drop was more than I could handle.

I remember climbing over the handrail of the roof each day thinking, “I can do this today.” There I would stand in my red and white polka dot swimsuit, unable to jump. Most of the kids would get bored and swim to an inner tube or go inside. But every day Corey would stay in the water, trying to coax me off of the roof.

“Kendra, I know you can do this. Just close your eyes and jump.”

Corey was five years older than me and I had a huge crush on him. I wanted to jump so badly just to make him proud of me. But each morning would end with me climbing back over the handrail and sulking my way back downstairs. And each day Corey would throw an arm around me and smile, “Don’t worry about it. You’ll do it tomorrow.”

The week went quickly and soon it was the last morning of our vacation. I had been innertubing; I had roasted marshmallows; my skin had turned a golden brown and my hair was nearly blonde; I’d even been allowed to steer the houseboat for half a minute – all good signs of a great vacation. But as I woke up that last morning, I knew I had one last thing to do.

I headed to the roof and told myself: you are going to jump. I was determined. I was ready. I was…scared out of my mind. As I walked to the edge of the roof, I wondered if the boat had gotten bigger overnight. It seemed much higher than it had the day before.

As I climbed over the edge, I heard Jason (age twelve at the time and mean as a snake) say, “Let’s go you guys. Kendra will never jump because she’s too scared.” The other kids laughed and all swam away. My eyes filled up with tears and I tried hard to swallow the lump in my throat. I looked down at the water and everyone was gone. Even Corey had given up on me. I climbed back over the rail as the tears ran down my cheek.

“What’s wrong?” I looked up to see Corey standing there, soaking wet from his first jump.
“I couldn’t do it.” I was sobbing at this point.

Without saying a word, he grabbed my hand and led me to the edge of the roof. As I started to protest, he jumped.

“Be braaaaaaave!”

I don’t know what it was about hearing those words, but suddenly I knew I could do it. I don’t remember climbing over the railing and I don’t remember looking down at the water. But I vividly remember the feeling of flying through the air and I remember how fantastic it felt to splash into the water.

My little red and white polka dot swimsuit was firmly wedged up my butt from the jump. I tried to discreetly fix it as Corey swam towards me.

“Did you see that? Did you see me jump? I JUMPED OFF THE HOUSEBOAT!” My heart was pounding

“Told ya you could do it.” He was grinning as he splashed water at my face and swam back towards the boat.

I laughed, tilted my head back and floated there for a few minutes just enjoying my success. I looked up at the houseboat and couldn’t believe I had just jumped off of it. I knew Corey was proud of me but what I hadn't expected was how proud I would be of myself. I was literally beaming with pride.

Even though that happened 22 years ago, I still think about that day from time to time. I guess what I realized that day is that sometimes, before you can believe in yourself, it helps to have a friend believe in you.

As the big 3-0 approaches in the not-so-distant future, it occurs to me that I haven’t jumped off a houseboat in a while, metaphorically speaking. I’m not sure it has so much to do with a lack of belief in myself or just a general laziness but I haven’t done anything really bold in a while.

That needs to change.

So I’m asking you, the readers, for suggestions. I need a challenge. I need an adventure. I need to be bold. I want to feel the same rush I felt that day I flew through the air in my red and white polka dot swimsuit.

Help a girl out.