Are We Having Fun Yet?

Most children don’t have to think twice about fun. For them it comes as naturally as breathing, and is almost as spontaneous. But fun often caused more trouble than it was worth for me. Gaiety and the ways of children seemed to irritate my father, and I could never be sure what would set him off. One minute I’d be in the back yard on the swings having a blast, the next I was getting several firm swats for disturbing his nap with my laughter. An ice cream cone was a wonderful treat - until it started to drip, which brought a scolding for making a mess. Even sand on my clothes after a frolic at the beach was met with a sour face and swearing. It was almost enough to make me wish I hadn’t bothered.

My father was also a stern environmentalist who tried to instill green values in us early on. I remember a seashore outing on which I let my candy wrapper float off the boardwalk onto the sand below. Before I knew what was happening, he picked me up, roughly tossed me over the railing, and forced me to retrieve it. The hard landing and his impulsive violence left me mentally numb.

So you can see why I have never been able to understand the appeal of leisure-time devices like snowmobiles and jet skis. They are an environmental menace with their pollution, noise, and potential to harass wildlife. They turn once-peaceful parks into places to be avoided. They are for thoughtless, fun-loving, beer-drinking partiers who think of nothing but themselves. They are, in the words of my father, for boobs. I felt this way for most of my life.

Enter Robin Williams. A symbol of unchecked hilarity and spontaneity, he is to the straight-laced adult what Id is to Ego - in dreams, anyway. That’s where we met one night about seven years ago. He was swimming on the far side of a small lagoon. Near him floated a jet ski, waiting to be ridden. “Come on in,” Robin said with a big grin, motioning me toward him. “The water is fine!” I awoke before a decision could be made.

Not long after that dream, I vacationed on Florida’s Sanibel and Captiva islands, whose warm waters and shell-strewn beaches have long been favorites of mine (until several years ago, when escalating prices made them unreachable). On this particular visit I heard about an opportunity to take a guided tour of some outlying islands. Always first in line to see anything new, I was eager to sign up, but there was one caveat: we’d explore the islands by jet ski.

By this time I was aware of the straight jacket I'd worn most of my life. Determined to try something new, I called in my reservation and gave them a hefty, non-refundable deposit.

The night before the excursion I could barely sleep. Not only was it expensive, but I had no idea how to ride a Wave Runner, and no idea if I would have a good time. The anxiety was excruciating, but my love of the water and sun and islands won out. In the morning I joined a family of four and our guide for a quick beach-side introduction to safety and vehicle operation. Fifteen minutes later, we saddled up and slowly headed out of the marina toward the open water. In a few minutes we were flying, bumping and splashing over wavelets and wakes from other boats. I could not believe how fast these things went! Nearby, dolphin fins sliced the water, and the shadows of groupers and sting rays drifted by under the surface. For nearly two hours we followed the guide around the perimeters of deserted islands, gliding quietly past inlets hiding private getaways, or simply sitting and soaking up our good fortune to be there. Opening up again when we were too far away to be heard, I twisted the throttle as far as I could, and almost fell off from the acceleration. It took a while to get used to slamming down on incoming waves; but it was unavoidable if you wanted to see what you were made of.

I zipped over the water with an unflagging grin, the Florida sun warming my body and the temperate sea washing away my fear. I was outside of time and myself, happy beyond belief from intimate contact with waters I had been longing to lose myself in for years. I was closer to the sea than a sailor. By the end of the day my neck and shoulder muscles ached mightily from the force of forward motion. But it was worth it, just to learn that delicate balance between holding on and letting go.