The Best Kept Secret Blog - Just Say No

While sitting in the water, their hands firmly clutching my butt, an image of my mother came to mind.

Despite living in Vancouver, my mother hated the beach. But, she loved her children and knowing we loved seashore, once a summer she and my father dutifully made the drive to the ocean. Once there, my father was dispatched to purchase strong coffee for he and my mother and French fries (inexplicably laced with sand) for my brother and I.

Mom would arrange herself on a towel, light a cigarette and tell my brother and I to, “Go play.”

She only ventured into the water if she felt we were swimming too far from shore. Then, cigarette dangling from her lips and dress hiked between her legs, she’d wade into the surf and motion for my brother and I to come a little closer.

47 or 48 years-old at the time, it never crossed my mother’s mind to actually swim. She hated swimming and felt no compunction to be like the more athletic moms who donned black one-piece suits and white rubber bathing caps covered with matching rubber flowers so they could splash about with their young ones.

It was the 1960s and if a middle-aged woman didn’t feel like going in the water, it was perfectly acceptable to just say no.

I, on the other hand, am a middle-aged woman living in 2008 and not only is it not cool to say no to opportunities and experiences, I face tremendous societal pressure to seek them out.

Reinvent or die!

So, on this summer day at the cottage, with husband, children and assorted weekend guests egging me on, I find myself in the water with two boards strapped to my feet reinventing myself as a water skiier.

This is no small feat considering a) I can barely swim; b) after more than 20 years dedicated to winter snow skiing I have only recently mastered the beginner hill and; c) I am scared to death.

My husband, who has an annoying habit of having more confidence in me than I deserve ("There's no reason you can't learn to re-shingle the roof/simultaneously run the PTA, do your MBA and train for a marathon in your spare time/hook up and initialize the new PVR") is driving the boat.

Our guests, a husband and wife duo who are avid water skiiers themselves, are holding on to various body parts in an attempt to keep me from sinking while we wait to start. And my children are on the dock, alternately shouting encouragement and asking if they can have a snack.

My husband turns, smiles and gives me a thumbs-up as he prepares to gun it. Here we go. . .

I'm dragged along the top of the water for three feet before I let go and fall unceremoniously backwards.

Though terribly embarassed, I try to cheer myself with positive self-talk. "Well, that's that. Time for cocktails!" I suggest as much to my guests as I flail about trying to return to the dock.

"Oh, no" reassures M. "Why I couldn't water ski at all when R. and I started dating. I rember the first time he took me to his family's cottage. All the relatives were there and they wouldn't let me get out of the water until I had gotten up on skis. It seemed like everyone had their hands on my ass, trying to help me get up. Even R.'s grandma had a turn. It took 47 tries but I did it."

And so on it goes - they push, the boat pulls and I fall. And after about 10 minutes of this humiliating exercise, I crack. I just say, "No". Or, more accurately, "Get your *#$*ing hands off of me. And you - Captain Stubing up there on the boat - get over it. I don't care if I can do this. I DON'T WANT TO. I am a 46 year-old, slightly out of shape woman who enjoys reading, shopping and drinking wine with my friends. And even if it makes me seem boring, I have absolutely no desire to learn to water ski. "

And with that, I dog paddled to shore, made my way to the Chardonnay bottle and toasted my mother.