The Best Gift my Father Ever Gave Me

In the summer of 2008, my father and I went kayaking for my birthday. I’d handled a few rapids before on a group tour, but he was new to it—but come on, how hard could it be? A relative recommended the perfect place for two novices like us—the Dismal River.

The plan was an eight-hour trip downriver to a bridge and a truck waiting to take us back to the hotel. But the river had other plans. Within 20 minutes, I was violently swept away from my kayak and into a tree. My boat and oar passed me by and became two specks in the distance. If I lost my grip, even for a second, I would join them.

My father approached the certain death of his only child with the same stoicism he applied to making a grilled cheese sandwich. At over six feet tall, my father had always been a large and naturally strong man. He grew up on a small-time farm and spent his teenage years working in lumberyards. His thick biceps—the ones he once used to bring the cows in at night, the ones he once used to lift a much smaller version of me high into the air—would now pull me to shore.

Downriver, we found my kayak waiting for me, but the oar was gone for good. Obviously, the rest of the trip was impossible. But then I turned, and there was my father, hand outstretched, giving me his oar—a well-timed birthday gift for his only child. Before I could blink, he was ripping a branch off the nearest tree. He would use this prize to paddle his kayak, albeit rather ineffectively, for the rest of the trip. I felt guilty—after all, I was the one who had lost my oar. It reminded me of all the restaurants we went to when I was younger, and he would swap meals with me because I liked his better.

The trip was slow and difficult, but at least our setback was behind us.

And then it began to get dark…

Looking at the twisted branch-turned-oar in my father’s hand, I spoke up. We had no choice but to stop for the night. In the middle of nowhere with no moon or stars, let alone cell phone service, a mistake in the dark meant it wouldn’t just be my oar missing in action.

So, soaking wet and utterly defeated, we climbed up a hill to wait for morning. Shortly after I began to feel the first faint drops of rain on my skin as the skies opened up to put the icing on my birthday cake. We found a pine tree and crawled underneath it in the hopes of finding shelter and maybe some sleep. My father turned to me and said, “Aw jeez, don’t CRY!” but that ship had sailed.

In the early light of a new morning, we made our way to high ground where we were spotted by a plane. My feet were cold, and my dad let me warm them on his large dad belly while we awaited rescue. Not long after, an old pickup truck came bumbling over the horizon. I watched the scenery go by on our way back to civilization, and I thought to myself: “I wonder what my Dad wants for HIS birthday.”

This is a summarized version of my 2019 Story District performance at the Black Cat in Washington, D.C. Watch the full performance here.