The Dock Will Always Be There, No Matter Where I Go

When I was young, probably about 6 years old or so, we lived in a heavily forested area. We lived towards the bottom of a rather large, tree-covered hill. Our back yard was sizable, and it sloped steeply downward. At the bottom of the slope, where the ground started to level, there was a wall of trees. These trees were old. They were very old. Like I said, we lived in what I imagine was a very old forest.

There was a path at the bottom of the hill that was little more than a crack in the wall. The path lead through the trees for several yards before leading to the banks of a large lake. At the end of the path, where forest and lake met, there was a white wooden dock.

I learned to fish off that dock. I learned to stick a worm on a hook on that dock. I learned to swim off that dock. I learned about fresh water ecosystems on that dock. I saw my very first crayfish on that dock. I saw my very first catfish on that dock. I saw my first otter on that dock. I played with frogs on that dock. I dropped nightcrawlers off that dock. I studied the forest from that dock. I ran my hands on the cool bark of a weeping willow beside that dock. I watched my brother kiss a girl from that dock. I watched my mother playing with my little brother in the water from that dock. I watched my father jump off that dock, into the lake, and swim out to his boat. My grandfather told me to “watch out for the cat crap” steps away from that dock.

When I was six years old, there were few things more awe-inspiring to me than that dock. The possibilities it presented were endless. When we moved away…far, far away to another country…the path and that dock occupied my thoughts for many years. Eventually, the dock became a distant childhood memory. However, I never forgot the lessons I learned on that dock. Even when I think about it today, that place holds special meaning for me.

A few years ago, I went back to that lake with my wife. 25 years had passed. The path was gone. All the trees had been removed. The yard runs down to the lake’s edge now. The dock, though, is still there. Just as I remember it. That willow is there, too. I took my wife and my then-infant son to the dock. I stood there with them for a few minutes. I shared a few memories. We talked. But I took a few seconds for myself, to BE there on that dock again. I looked out over the lake, and a breeze moved little waves across its face. My father’s boat is gone, of course, but the memory of riding around on the lake remains. In my mind’s eye, I imagined the boat gliding over the water and slipping beside the dock. I looked into the clear water and saw a group of perch just below the surface, looking up eagerly. I smiled. They couldn’t be the same ones that ate the nightcrawlers I dropped in…could they? Of course not. But I imagined another little boy, maybe around six years old, coming to this dock with a can of worms. I imagined him dropping nightcrawlers, one by one, into the water and watching the fish dart up to eat them. Maybe he wears glasses.

I left and joined my wife and son in the parking lot at the bottom of the hill. We drove away.

Our minds are filled with memories. Some, we revisit often. Others, we hardly recall. Regardless, they are all there. They mean different things to us at different moments. While I am not six years old any longer, there is a corner of my mind that is occupied by a six-year-old boy with glasses two sizes too big. He is a part of who I am today. He makes sure that there is always an awe-inspiring dock in my life. It’s just a matter of listening to him when he points them out. Listening and letting him take the reigns from time to time.

The dock will always be there, no matter where I go.