Smooth Sailing

May 28, 2018

May 28, 2018

When I tell people online that I'm in a yacht club, an image of wealthy socialites partying aboard a luxury yacht somewhere on the ocean starts to form in their mind, which always confused me when I was younger. The yacht club that I grew up with was a largely middle class organization, with the possible exception of the Sterling-Staffords, and our parties never quite matched landlubbers' expectations. Of course, that didn't mean that the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club didn't know how to have a good time.

Memorial Day was the official start of the sailing season; therefore, it was a good excuse for the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club to throw a party. The first party of the year was traditionally at the commodore's house, and since my dad was the commodore for the 2018 sailing season, our family was hosting the party. After some debate with Mr. Stafford, the vice commodore, and Mrs. Holloway, the secretary, Dad decided to host a Memorial Day cookout, complete with hot dogs and hamburgers fresh off of the grill.

Mom, Dad, Everett, and I spent most of the morning setting up for the party, while the rest of the yacht club was still asleep or downtown watching the Memorial Day Parade. Mrs. Holloway and her seven year old daughter showed up to help after we had already finished setting up the tables and chairs in our yard, and once we had set up coolers for drinks and Dad, Mom, and Mrs. Holloway had started grilling, the other members of the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club had started to arrive.

"Everett, Sylvie, why don't you two go greet our guests?" Mom said.

"Okay," I said, knowing that I wouldn't get much help from Everett. He had found a chair and a bowl of tortilla chips to munch on, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to get him to budge from that spot, no matter how hard I tried. I stood in the middle of the yard, trying to keep an eye on both the driveway and the pier at the same time.

A familiar motorboat approached the shore, and I ran after it. Grandma helped Grandpa out of the boat, and with the help of his cane, he walked towards the party. "Hi Grandma and Grandpa," I said.

Grandpa smiled and said, "Sylvie! It's good to see you again."

"How are things going?" Grandma asked.

"I'm doing fine," I said.

"How's school going?" Grandma asked.

"It's almost over, thankfully," I said.

"I just can't believe that your father's the commodore now," Grandpa said. "Sylvie, did you know that your great-grandfather was the very first commodore of this yacht club?"

"I did," I said. Grandpa had told me this same story a million times.

"Someday, you'll be the commodore too," Grandpa said. "It's a family tradition to be a leader in the Clearwater Lake Yacht Club, and I know that you'll carry that tradition onwards."

"I will, Grandpa," I said. However, my conversation with my grandparents was interrupted when the Reinharts' car appeared in our driveway. "I'll talk to you two later," I said. "Mom and Dad told Everett and I to greet everyone that arrived, and I know that Everett's not going to do it."

Grandma laughed, and I headed to the other side of the yard to say hello to the Reinharts. Eden, of course, immediately volunteered to help me greet the guests as an excuse to get away from her parents and Kelsey, and the two of us cheerfully told the Kaufmans, the Falconeris, the Graves, and the Vegas where to get food and to enjoy the party.

After about fifteen minutes of welcoming yacht club members to our party, Eden and I thought that we were done. I grabbed an orange soda from the cooler, and the two of us found an empty table. "What's new?" Eden asked me.