Paul Fetler

Leaving the Dock

Dad would have that spark in his eyes on certain weekends; the peninsula harbor, winds, and white caps were calling him. We headed towards the nearest harbor, with the white tarp-covered boat attached with rattling wheels behind our car. Looking out the backseat window, I often daydreamed about places I would rather be, like the local  miniature golf course. We started going to the sailing docks when I was about nine or ten years old.   On windy days the motorless … Read More