MASCULINE SUPERIORITY
It was the 1995 Baker Family’s annual weekend reunion on Vashon Island, Washington. The house where we meet each year is idyllically sited on a narrow strip of land along the shores of Puget Sound, facing South Seattle and Mt. Rainier. This sunny summer day was filled with a large number of Baker families stretching across four generations. As usual there had been much merriment, good food, wine, and volleyball.
The older contingent, comprised of cousins in their 50s, were lounging along the beach when my sister Kappy and two other women decided to take a small rowboat out onto the remarkably calm sound. The three of them paddled out. Their’s was a short meander, proceeding in circles and laughter as they realized they had no idea of how to row a dinghy in a straight line. They returned to shore and were met with taunts and Bronx cheers.
At this point, my cousin Mary’s husband, Larry, boldly stood and loudly called out, “Let’s show these women how to row a boat”. No one volunteered. “Who is the man who will go with me to show these women how it is done?” Larry bellowed. Still, no one rose to accept his challenge. Bruce was nearby, sitting against a log, and as usual, he was reading a very thick book on philosophy. Doomed by proximity, Bruce was reluctantly drafted to go for a row. With Bruce in the bow, his book in hand, Larry pushed off from the shore and jumped in. It was a shaky start with much tipping as the little dinghy, under the weight of two large men, settled low in the water. Larry began to row with flair. Bruce sat in the bow, head down, reading, apparently wishing to distance himself from Larry’s braggadocio. Neither were aware of the approaching series of swells, the wake of a passing ship. Larry could have turned the boat so the bow was facing into the waves, but he didn’t know they were approaching. The first wave rocked the dinghy, causing Larry to drop his oars and hang on. Some water came in over the side. One oar drifted away. The second wave washed more water into the small craft. With each successive wave, the little craft and the two large men sank lower and lower until they all slid beneath the surface. The last thing we saw from shore, as the dinghy went down, was a hand above the water holding a very large book.
As the two drenched men crawled back up the sandy shore, struggling with the bow line of the submerged dinghy. They were greeted with a barrage of raucous laughter. Chuckling followed the two of them for the rest of the day. For years thereafter, a smile could be raised among the family by the mere mention of the phrase “Lets show these women how to row a boat. “
Copyright 2014 by Theodore “Tod” Lundy, Architect