On an almost-sunny day, we took out the old boat and all went skiing! The water wasn't glass, the day wasn't very warm, and we felt a little bit rusty and not exactly 18 years-old anymore, but we had fun and Pablo got up on the very first try! Water skiing might be a bit of a dying sport, being taken over by wakeboard dudes and their silly tricks, but in my family, its what we do. We wake up at 6am to get out on the lake before it gets rough, no matter that early mornings in Indiana are always cold. The Spring day when the lake is no longer frozen, we don holey wetsuits and plunge into the water, hoping our hearts don't stop. We do this and we've done this for generations perhaps for inexplicable reasons. I remember watching my grandmother zip across the lake with her yellow flotation belt, and my grandpa with his extra-wide ski. I remember a million mornings observing for my father, and even some afternoons watching him do helicopters across the wake. I remember learning as a little girl, the first time on two, the first time on one, the first time barefoot. It doesn't change but still, every summer I wonder if I will be able to pull myself up or if I fall, will it hurt?
In the end, I guess why we do it doesn't matter, all that matters is that we keep doing it and keep having fun together.
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