Friday, June 20, 2003
BOYS AND THEIR TOYS, Sex and Lies continued... Thursday, June 12, 2003
My Dad always satisfied his desires. No matter what the families financial situation was he always managed to buy himself a new car every two or three years. Mom and I would never know when he would pull in the drive with the next best thing. I used to wonder about the money. It was a forbidden topic. Once when I was a little kid I over heard my parents mention my dad's salary. I thought it was something to brag about so I went and told all my little neighborhood friends. It got back to my parents and they beat the crap (as dad would say) out of me. We never talked about money. They are now almost 80 and I have no idea what their assets are.
Dad was a Cadillac kind of guy. Boats were also a big thing with him. We always had one. It started when I was little and he got a 14 footer that was fast enough to pull a skier. Soon after that came the bigger boats with the inboard motors. We kept them at the Jersey shore but would take them down the East River out to Long Island Sound for the summer. Dad docked at Mattituck, a short drive from Orient Point. It was the North Fork of Long Island. Now it is all vineyards, and stables for the horsey set. Then it was all potato farms.
My dad taught me navigation, how to read the maps of the New York and Jersey coastline. Not that he needed me to navigate. We always had motor, not sail boats and they had all the sonar and depth reading equipment a captain would need. My dad loved driving the boats and the cars. He loved the equipment. My mother often declined to go boating so my dad would take me. So there we'd be, tooling down the East River with the majestic City of New York on either side of us and the huge tankers and luxury liners making us feel like a floating pea. Once, when we were at our summer house, dad wanted to take the boat out. He had been drinking. There were gale wind warnings off Mattituck. My mother refused to go but he goaded me into coming with him. I think I did it to show my mother up, to curry favor with my dad. I was about 9 or 10. The boat at that time was a 23 foot skiff with a flying bridge. Not a big boat. The harbor was gray and ominous but looked flat. My dad is energized, eager to get going. He assures me everything is fine and if it gets bad we'll just turn back. We head out of the harbor. As we get just beyond the jetty, the sea starts to churn and we get caught in a cascade of huge swells that threaten to swamp the boat. Walls of water rear up on either side. I think I'm going to die. I am frozen with fear, terrified. My dad is manic, I'd say, ecstatic. He's up on the bridge. I'm laying face down on the rear deck holding on so the waves don't wash me overboard. He can't turn the boat around in this, he has to keep heading out to sea. That's all I can remember. The rest is a blank. Obviously we survived.
Later came the REALLY big boats with the sleeping cabins, bath and shower, galley with a stove and fridge, sofa and TV in the lounge area and covered flying bridge with leather padded seats. Just like with our houses, my mom got to select the decor, the pattern of the curtains and color of the canvas seats. When I was a kid, dad always named the boats after me, The Cindy I, The Cindy II, etc.(That's what they called me. Cynthia was used only when I was being bad.) When I married Pete and Erika came along the boats were named Erika Lee I, Erika Lee II, and so on. Boating in the summer became the focus of our social life. I loved being out on the water all day in this floating ball of luxury. I felt guilty about it having spent most of my life rejecting everything my parents stood for. Pete had no such problems. He loved to fish and sail and drink. My Dad loved to take Pete fishing although the big boats were really for partying, not fishing. Dad and Pete bonded. I think Dad loved him. Thats why they rejected me when I left him.
My Dad always satisfied his desires. No matter what the families financial situation was he always managed to buy himself a new car every two or three years. Mom and I would never know when he would pull in the drive with the next best thing. I used to wonder about the money. It was a forbidden topic. Once when I was a little kid I over heard my parents mention my dad's salary. I thought it was something to brag about so I went and told all my little neighborhood friends. It got back to my parents and they beat the crap (as dad would say) out of me. We never talked about money. They are now almost 80 and I have no idea what their assets are.
Dad was a Cadillac kind of guy. Boats were also a big thing with him. We always had one. It started when I was little and he got a 14 footer that was fast enough to pull a skier. Soon after that came the bigger boats with the inboard motors. We kept them at the Jersey shore but would take them down the East River out to Long Island Sound for the summer. Dad docked at Mattituck, a short drive from Orient Point. It was the North Fork of Long Island. Now it is all vineyards, and stables for the horsey set. Then it was all potato farms.
My dad taught me navigation, how to read the maps of the New York and Jersey coastline. Not that he needed me to navigate. We always had motor, not sail boats and they had all the sonar and depth reading equipment a captain would need. My dad loved driving the boats and the cars. He loved the equipment. My mother often declined to go boating so my dad would take me. So there we'd be, tooling down the East River with the majestic City of New York on either side of us and the huge tankers and luxury liners making us feel like a floating pea. Once, when we were at our summer house, dad wanted to take the boat out. He had been drinking. There were gale wind warnings off Mattituck. My mother refused to go but he goaded me into coming with him. I think I did it to show my mother up, to curry favor with my dad. I was about 9 or 10. The boat at that time was a 23 foot skiff with a flying bridge. Not a big boat. The harbor was gray and ominous but looked flat. My dad is energized, eager to get going. He assures me everything is fine and if it gets bad we'll just turn back. We head out of the harbor. As we get just beyond the jetty, the sea starts to churn and we get caught in a cascade of huge swells that threaten to swamp the boat. Walls of water rear up on either side. I think I'm going to die. I am frozen with fear, terrified. My dad is manic, I'd say, ecstatic. He's up on the bridge. I'm laying face down on the rear deck holding on so the waves don't wash me overboard. He can't turn the boat around in this, he has to keep heading out to sea. That's all I can remember. The rest is a blank. Obviously we survived.
Later came the REALLY big boats with the sleeping cabins, bath and shower, galley with a stove and fridge, sofa and TV in the lounge area and covered flying bridge with leather padded seats. Just like with our houses, my mom got to select the decor, the pattern of the curtains and color of the canvas seats. When I was a kid, dad always named the boats after me, The Cindy I, The Cindy II, etc.(That's what they called me. Cynthia was used only when I was being bad.) When I married Pete and Erika came along the boats were named Erika Lee I, Erika Lee II, and so on. Boating in the summer became the focus of our social life. I loved being out on the water all day in this floating ball of luxury. I felt guilty about it having spent most of my life rejecting everything my parents stood for. Pete had no such problems. He loved to fish and sail and drink. My Dad loved to take Pete fishing although the big boats were really for partying, not fishing. Dad and Pete bonded. I think Dad loved him. Thats why they rejected me when I left him.
