My Dad Should Be Dead #7

One beautiful summer day, mom and dad were out boating. They did that quite often. Mom would drive the boat while dad skied. Now, if you remember other stories of my dad, you may recall that he just loved to water ski, and was good at it.

Many times, while they were out skiing, mom would pull in very close to the shore line. Dad would let go of the tow rope, and ski right into shore - make a graceful stop, and just step out of his skis. They did that a lot. I'm not sure how he kept his balance, because whenever I let go of a tow rope, I tumble end over end. I guess I didn't inherit my dad's skill on skis.

Anyway, on this particular day, they were out boating at a lake they hadn't been to before. Mom was driving, dad was skiing. And, as was customary with them, mom pulled close to shore, and dad let go, heading into what he imagined would be a nice, soft landing on a sand covered beach. However, much to my dad's dismay, and probably my mom's horror as she watched this all happen, the beach was not sandy; it was quite rocky.

Instead of that graceful landing he was expecting, he hit those rocks and went flying, tumbling end over end, onto shore. Ouch. I don't think he broke anything but I'm sure he had some mighty bruises.

- Chel