Have you ever looked back on a seemingly unimportant moment and realized how much value the memory holds?

July 13, 2014. The day was cloudy, and rain threatened to fall. My dad and I were driving around and we made a split second decision, we drove to the storage unit where our boat lived. I began to help my father get our boat on the truck. But this simple task was a ridiculous struggle. Another lot owner had parked their camper too far back; as a result our truck could not fit into the space. We had to load at an awkward angle, and it took us fifteen tries. Fifteen. By that summer we had become experts at loading. Usually, we managed to nail it on our second or third try. My dad was so mad that he almost gave up. My spirits were still high. I believed that all of the days’ troubles were over.

Back at home, my mom fumed about the fact that we were going boating. She complained about this and that, how she had notes to write, payroll to do, etc. To her every complaint I gave a solution. Once my mom gave up, she began to get our boards. She climbed the ladder, reached for my wakeboard and then realized that I did not have any bindings; and neither did my dad, and her board was still wet, and our skis were with a friend, and the knee board was missing. She called my dad and declared that we would not be going. He almost gave in but again I refused. I told her that I would fix everything because I thought that would solve our problems. No, nothing could be that easy.

I worked my butt off off to get the bindings on the boards and the boards on the boat. So I figured we were good to go, Jenna could just meet up after her hike right? The sky was clearing and we did not have time to wait, my parents agreed that she could drive there herself. Lo and behold my mom gets a call. “I'm lost, this sucks I don't even want to go out. Screw this I'm not going to go just because Jocie got new gloves. Today has been an awful day and I don't want to go out on the boat.” Both of my parents were already on short fuses and my sisters little spark had set them both off. I was the victim. I gave in and gave up. I wanted to go home. But we were already there, there was no point in turning around.

My dad saw the water and began to get giddy. The sun was out, the water was glass and my dad began to back the boat in. I really did not want to go out on the boat while everyone else was still mad at me. As we hung on to the dock Jenna came storming out of her car and sat forcefully as far from me as she could get. My dad turned the key. There was nothing. The boat wouldn't start. Just as he gave up I ran over and slammed the key in frustration. A forceful turn rather than a push. A low purring turned into the loud roar as our 28 footer ski boat came alive. And all of the tension and anger rushed out of the boat. Suddenly, we were all happy, we were all laughing, we were all tanning, and boarding.

That is the last time I ever got to be on my or any boat with my father. The day started out miserable, but looking back it is one of the most cherished moments of my life. The boat meant the world to me and my father, it was our special activity. That seemingly unimportant day means the world to me--I will forever remember it and I will forever be grateful.