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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Harbor Squall<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>By Ann Chiappetta<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The unmistakable sulfurous stink of low tide thick with humidity and sea smells brings me back to the fondest recollections of childhood. I developed from a motion sick land lubber into a confident first mate, thanks to a divorce, cabin cruiser named Sea Luv and the wiles of Mother Nature.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>New York is brutal in the summer. We got a reprieve from the heat and humidity on the boat, trolling offshore for hours, pulling in blues and hoping for stripers. It would get roasting and Dad would slide the boat into neutral and we’d plunge into the cool depths, pop out, and climb back aboard. We would never admit the brevity of the quick dip was due to the fear of sharks.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Dad taught me the best way to finesse a fiddler crab onto a hook, mix chum, and remove hooks and so much more. We didn’t water-ski often, it wasted gas for fishing <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>One of my most defining moments played out during an attempt to outrun a squall. It bore down on us in minutes. We were heading back from a quick run. There were six of us, Dad, me, my stepmother and her sister-in-law and her two kids. Dad watched the black clouds, rising winds and white caps and his face grew serious. He made everyone secure their lifejackets and sent them all into the cabin.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Stay calm and don’t come up on deck unless I tell you,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I got different instructions. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“None of them can help me, they’re all panicking. It’s me and you. Hold on and do what I say,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>He motioned to the wheel, <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Don’t let go,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>His arms tightened with effort, wrestling with the wheel, forcing the boat to head for the little island, stern to the screaming wind. I understood it meant saving us from capsizing. Landing on the beach was better than sinking. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Before Dad lost control, he grabbed me, looked into my face, and said,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“If I get hurt, you make sure you send the mayday,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I gave him a stiff nod, braced myself against the console and held the shuddering, uncooperative wheel. Dad worked the throttle and we both hung on. The waves pelted us, the deck pitched me like a doll, slamming me into the dash. The sound was deafening. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It was as if a watery hand grabbed and slammed us onto the beach, then it was over, we were taking on water, and my ears were ringing. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Go check on them,” said Dad, “<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I opened the door and met four pairs of frightened eyes.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“We’re up on the beach, , it’s over,”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I heard Dad sending the mayday and some tension left me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>In less than an hour we were towed off the shore, bailed out most of the water, fired up the engine, and chugged back to the dock. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Later, after a well-deserved clam strip dinner at IHOP, Dad said,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Could’ve been worse,” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Our eyes met,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I thought you were going to be scared but you did great,” he said. He didn’t wait for a reply and went back to his dinner.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>914.393.6605 USA<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><a href="mailto:Anniecms64@gmail.com">Anniecms64@gmail.com</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>All things Annie: <a href="http://www.annchiappetta.com">www.annchiappetta.com</a> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>