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Excerpted Inspirations #245

Writer: Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
Aug 30
0 min read
Of course I was supposed to be exactly what my mother wanted me to be, and always do what she wanted. But part of what she wanted was not to have me constantly bothering her or taking up too much of her precious time and energy. This led to certain unusual kinds of freedom – permission to do things I loved to do. When I was young we vacationed in Ocean City, on the New Jersey coast. We had a house on the water, and a dock and a rowboat. At the age of 10 or 11, I was encouraged to go out alone in the rowboat in the mornings (after being carefully instructed not to go out in the bay but to stay in the lagoon). I remember – I’d get up in the early morning silence, put on my shorts and a top, braid my hair. (I had to learn to do that so I wouldn’t be ashamed of how I looked when I went out!) I’d go quietly down the long flight of back steps in my bare feet, and stay on the concrete path to the dock so I wouldn’t step on any burrs. If it was low tide I might go down the ladder on the bulkhead to get to the boat. If it was high tide I’d just pull the boat over to the dock and step in. It was a solid, heavy boat – it never tipped over. I would unclip the back and untie the bow and carefully put the oars in the locks. The oars were not attached so I could choose their position – just perfectly balanced between the weight outside the boat and the weight inside. To balance correctly, the oars needed to overlap in the center, but I could handle that. And since they weren’t attached, I had to make sure the blades were in just the right position to dip in the water at right angles without splashing. This was all about competence. I could do it all by myself. Ready to go. Turn the boat around. One oar dipping backward and the other forward. All the white boats in the lagoon were shining in the sun. Hardly anyone was around. Maybe someone was polishing brass or hosing down a deck. The water was clean, but not clear – I couldn’t see to the bottom. Light breezes rippled the water. I had to be careful not to hit the sailboats moored to the buoys in the center of the lagoon. Mostly I would row close to the docks – up one side, down the other. Past the fancy houses and the fancy boats. Past the big boats at the coast guard station. There was the opening into the bay. I mustn’t go out there – the wind and the tides might take me out to sea. I believed that and was content with my world of the lagoon. We didn’t have a fancy house or a fancy boat, but we lived on the lagoon. The water was always there to look at, to swim in, to dive into at high tide, to play at the edges of at low tide, to row around on in the early morning peace. I could handle the boat perfectly – my father had taught me how to do it and I was strong enough and skillful enough. I had a feeling of mastery and Mother was home in bed. No need to pay her any attention. Strange inconsistencies like this were occasionally presented to me as part of Mother’s “logical plan,” and I never questioned them. In retrospect I know now that much of the freedom I was given was purely for her own convenience, but I was not aware of that at the time. I took what was offered and ran with it. -Beryl Simonetti, Images (2000, unpublished), pp. 65-67

 
 
 

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