For all the dads out there and for all those who are remembering one or honoring one this Father’s Day, I dedicate this story to you. Father’s Day weekend, 1997, has become one of those landmarks in our family history – retold often with laughter and at times, a shudder.  You might want to buckle up your life vest before going any further.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I can’t keep an eye on Smuffy every second. At first, I wished I could. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that in order to avoid ulcers and insanity, I would have to leave him to his guardian angels and pretend he wasn’t really out somewhere trying to do himself in. I did ask that a few more be assigned to him, just so I could sleep at night.

An outdoorsman and adventure lover, Smuffy is never happier than when immersing himself in his greatest passion – water! It doesn’t seem to matter how much and what kind. He’ll take anything from a long soak in the tub to a romp in the ocean. Inside the man lies the spirit of Thor Heyerdahl and the longing to head out for Kon-Tiki on a raft. For the record: This girl won’t be going along.

I can’t even begin to describe what comes over Smuffy at the sight of a body of water. While in a motor vehicle, he’ll putz along, never exceeding the speed limit. When making financial decisions, he’s Mr. Belt & Suspenders all the way. The shimmering vision of water, however, sucks him in as though he were Clark Kent entering a phone booth. Within seconds, he’s transformed into Captain Super Wonder Water Man. At least, he thinks he is.  At the top of Smuffy’s bucket list – canoeing every river in our state!

More than once, Smuffy’s wet ‘n wild side has scared the pants off normal folks. It got so that grown men would approach me after Smuffy had invited them to go canoeing or boating and, with a tremor in their voices, ask me if I intended to go along. You might be puzzling at their reasons for such behavior. I wondered at first myself. However, I soon realized that people considered my presence their life insurance policy! They assumed that, if accompanied by the woman he’d have to live with in the ugly aftermath of one of his crazed adventures, Captain Super Wonder Water Man might tame things down a bit rather than endure a lifetime of “I told you so’s”.

This proved to be the case. Though it taxed my good nature to its limit, I learned how to dish out preliminary fire and brimstone sermons that let him know that, if he valued his future happiness, he’d better bring me (and everybody else) back home alive, dry and in possession of all their body parts and belongings. Even so, water activities with Smuffy still left me in a state of exhaustion, for the moment he beheld the water’s rippling surface, he needed restraint. Only by a folding of the arms and a piercing glare from my wifely stink-eye, administered every thirty minutes or so, did any of us return in one piece. Even then, you could hear the smacking of lips as Smuffy’s passengers, once back on shore, fell to their knees and kissed the dry ground.

He earned a reputation, and rightly so. Through the years, I’ve often wondered how many people, upon watching the nightly news and hearing of some boating disaster, leaped to the assumption that Smuffy must have had a hand in it. Even carefree children developed a wisdom beyond their years and began to avoid Captain Super Wonder Water Man.

Once, after we’d flipped over a log and capsized in a southern Missouri river, I rose to the surface and began the search for my young daughter. As her life jacket brought her up, bobbing and spitting, I could see the panic in her eyes. I tried to propel myself faster than the current so that I could grab her arm and I called out.

“I’m coming. Mommy’s coming!”

Smuffy screamed at me from upstream. “Don’t worry about anything else! Just grab her before she gets away. I’ll get everything else!”

I managed to get a grip on my little girl. She clung to me, trembling.

“Daddy! Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”

“He’ll be here soon. He’s trying to get our canoe and all our stuff.”

“I want my daddy! I want my daddy!”

I looked around. We’d planned for a big day and most of our plans were floating downstream faster than Smuffy could collect them. First things first, he went after the canoe. While he wrestled it into an upright position, its contents drifted downstream. Our cooler, along with a tool-box, dry-box, towels, bags of chips and everything else that had spelled out F-U-N earlier in the day scattered like livestock with the gate left open.

Smuffy, hearing the hysterics, kept calling out for me to keep a firm grip on the most important prize while he retrieved everything else.

“Daddy! Daddy! Where’s my daddy?”

Her soggy, blonde braid whipped from side to side as my precious girl searched the river.

“There he is,” I pointed. “See? Daddy’s fine. He’ll be here in a minute, just as soon as he gets all of our stuff back. See? Daddy’s all right.”

The big, blue eyes narrowed as they honed in on her target.

“I want my daddy so I can smack him!”

Yes, it seemed the river had washed the glamour right off Captain Super Wonder Water Man – even in the eyes of his devoted daughter. Though I refrained from saying so, I had somewhat of an urge to smack Smuffy myself.

As though summoned by our prayers, several members of the Gasconade River Boating Club happened along and fished the female members of our party out of the river.

Still, to this day, I can’t believe I let her go!

Even the hard-core adventurous types began to eye Smuffy with caution when he suggested they join him for a day at the lake or a trip to the river. Other than a couple of die-hard old water buddies, people just didn’t seem to like the idea of spending the day with a man who, upon reaching a fork in the river, cupped a hand behind his ear and, with a dangerous gleam in his eye, steered them straight toward the sound of whitewater.

One such faithful friend was Steve. More than likely, Steve figured that if Smuffy hadn’t managed to kill him way back in their college days, he had a pretty good chance of survival. Steve’s wife, Darlene, lacked a great deal of her husband’s confidence. Her own fear of water, combined with a multiple encounters with Captain Super Wonder Water Man, had made her wary (if we care to make the understatement of the century).

What Smuffy needed was a cure, but the thought of what that might entail seemed unthinkable. Effective cures for Smuffy seem to burst on the scene with a great deal of drama. You can check out a prime example of that here.

The circumstances of life offered a prime opportunity for a cure on Father’s Day weekend of 1997 and now, more than twenty years later, you have the whole story.

On that beautiful Saturday morning, Smuffy and Steve left for a grand day of adventure which would take them on three different rivers. The gas tanks were full and so were the coolers in preparation for a steak dinner cooked over an open fire. Once they’d scouted out all the good spots on the trip upstream, they’d turn back toward home and dine at an ideal location.

High water only added to Smuffy’s excitement. He told me I needn’t worry about submerged logs and other snags that might cause danger out on the river. Prolonged and heavy rains had raised the river level far above all such debris and would allow them to take the boat full throttle all the way.

Uh-huh. I offered him the stink-eye and, no, he didn’t notice. Like a little boy with a new toy, he kissed me good-bye and said he’d be home before dark. Uh-huh.

They looked cute, I had to admit. Smuffy had restored a 1963 Studebaker Champ pickup truck and a 1957 wood runabout and nearly got a cramps from returning all the thumbs-ups and waves he got when he took that snazzy set out together.

The girls stayed behind. More children had entered into the dynamics of the thing and to Darlene and me, it seemed only logical to guarantee them at least one surviving parent.

I spent the day doing what I usually did when Smuffy hit the water. I tried not to think about it. Besides, I had a little girl to take care of and housework to do and a few unfinished projects.

At dusk, I began to get a little concerned about Darlene, knowing that her head must now be filling with visions of Titanic-like proportions. I decided to grab some leftover cake and go over to her house, hoping to keep her mind occupied and show her that there was no need to worry. Did I mention that her husband was out with Captain Super Wonder Water Man?

There comes a time of night when, even though their presence provides a welcome distraction, children must be put to bed. Though I hated to leave Darlene in a quiet house with nothing but her terrifying imaginations to keep her company, the cake and conversation ran out and I took my young one home.

Then, I sat. Uttering a prayer or two during commercials, I watched TV and waited. Around eleven o’clock, I began to vacillate between panic-inducing visions and murderous plots. You see, Smuffy had the ability to radio the local amateur radio club tower and make a distress call, but had he done so, they would have put him through to me. Either something had happened or he assumed I shouldn’t be worried. Like I said – panic, then murder.

The sheriff! I could call the sheriff! I hesitated on the grounds that it might make Smuffy mad at me. Then, I reasoned that if he didn’t really need the sheriff, he deserved to be every bit as upset as his wife. I pondered as to what course law enforcement might take. Would they tell me that I had to wait a certain number of hours before he could be classified as “missing”? Did they even own a boat? Now, I pondered the prospect of adding of some type of water patrol to the mix. Oh, dear! Would they even know how or where to look?

I knew what I really needed. I needed someone every bit as prone to irrational acts of self-destruction as Smuffy – somebody dumb enough to throw themselves into the river in the black of night and not come back without Smuffy and Steve. I called Smuffy’s brother.

He took the eleven-thirty call with a great degree of calm, I thought. He did, however, make a comment or two about the space between his younger brother’s ears before praying with me and promising to launch himself into the deep if the boys didn’t return within the hour.

As midnight approached, the phone rang. Smuffy assured me that while there had been an accident, he and Steve were alive and well and headed home and he would tell me all about it when he arrived.

After letting his brother know that he didn’t have to go diving after dark, I called Darlene and we, to put it mildly, spent a few moments sharing similar views on husbands, boating and idiocy before going to bed to wait for the return and the explanation.

In the middle of all this, the calendar rolled over to a new day and it was a relief to know that when our children woke up on Father’s Day, we’d be able to tell them they still had dads!

Around 1:30 a.m., after falling asleep with all the times Smuffy had gone wild on water and dragged in late dancing in my head, I awakened to the sound of the key in the lock. I issued myself a quick reminder that there had been an accident and that accidents are, in fact, accidental, and that I needed to be nice.

One look at Smuffy told me that he’d been through the wringer. Soaked to the skin and covered with mud, his face showed not only exhaustion, but a numb form of shock.

“I thought I killed Steve,” he muttered. “I thought I killed him.”

Opening the refrigerator, he shoved a few bites of whatever he could find into his mouth, his face registering that it tasted similar to ashes. He wobbled off to the tub to scrub off the river, a great deal of its banks and a the distinct smell of fish and other forms of organic matter in various stages of decomposition.

Later in the day, Darlene told me that Steve had arrived in worse condition, which had caused her compassionate nature to rise to the surface and subdue all her previous plans to express herself.

Even I, listening to Smuffy as he fluctuated between naps and sudden bursts of recall, began to think there may be no need to point out the obvious. I went outside to have a look at the boat.

It looked worse than the boys. Once a gem, it’s shattered windshield and dangling steering cables caught the eye right away. A few good-sized holes in it’s beautiful wood glared at me.

I believe it was the poet Burns who observed that the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley. Smuffy’s and Steve’s plans couldn’t have ganged any further aft if they’d tried.

They’d started up the Missouri River at top speed, for as Smuffy had predicted, recent rains had raised it many feet above any snags that may have otherwise marred their course. Feeling that the day was young and they were only getting started, they cruised up another tributary and then another, all the while scouting for that perfect sandy beach where they would stop for steaks over the fire and whatever manly sides dishes they’d packed to round out their meal.

When, at last, they felt they’d gone as far from home as they dare, the boys turned the boat around. With appetites sharpened by a day on the water, they hurried on to their supper destination with fleeting memories that somewhere, hours ago, they’d promised a couple of women they’d be home by dark.

The river seemed different now. While they flew over the surface because, after all, that is how fast the motor will make the boat go, Smuffy studied the banks. He began to think that perhaps the water level might be dropping, but he didn’t get to entertain the notion for long.

While the boat skimmed over the huge log with no problem, the submerged parts of the motor did not. The steering cables, jerked free from their happy homes, dangled uselessly and the boat veered toward shore. Smuffy cut the engine, offered up a quick prayer of thanksgiving for a huge brush pile that he hoped might cushion the blow, and waited for impact.

Collecting himself afterward, he turned to Steve, who didn’t seem to be there. Looking down toward the soft sounds of gurgling and moaning that came from the bottom of the boat, he found Steve lying where a tree limb had knocked him after crashing through the windshield. The wound where it had met Steve’s forehead looked to be a nasty one.

“Steve!” Smuffy yelled. “Steve! Can you hear me?”

The gurgling and moaning went on for a bit before Steve managed words.

“Where am I?”

“You tell me where you are!” Smuffy demanded.

Continual questioning at last proved that Steve could not only ascertain where he was, but who he was. He was even able to identify the one who had dragged him along on this binge – Captain Super Wonder Water Man.

Once able to take his eyes off his long-time friend, Smuffy looked around in hopes of discovering minimal damage to the boat. The river, now an inch from the rim, seemed to be demanding his immediate attention. He needed Steve now.

“We’re sinking!  I’ll get the excess weight out of the boat and you start bailing!”

The boat held an abundance of food and even a spare boat motor should they have trouble, but Smuffy hadn’t planned for this. In a panic, he handed Steve the lid off the cooler and Steve took the unwieldy thing and started bailing.

Smuffy looked at his spare motor – his precious spare motor. A water-loving man can never have too many boat motors. Taking a deep breath, Smuffy mustered up his physical and emotional strength, hoisted it and chucked it overboard. Now, the logical thing to do was to get the boat moving forward to help keep some of the water from coming in the holes and head home as fast as possible before Steve’s arms wore out.

Realizing that the boat would be at the bottom of the river in the time it took to reattach the steering cables, Smuffy started up the motor and, throwing his arms around it, steered it with a hug. They continued all the way down three rivers, soon finding themselves in total darkness, but grateful that river debris began to collect in the holes in the boat, slowing down the intake of water. Eventually, this enabled them to pause for a moment or two at a time and while Steve kept bailing, Smuffy released his grip on the motor and tried to make distress calls. All but the last of these proved unsuccessful, even though Smuffy climbed up through the underbrush along the riverbanks in the dark, attempting to get a better signal. At last, they left the Missouri River, turned up yet another and arrived at the boat landing.

As I listened to Smuffy’s tale, I fluctuated between wanting to hug him tighter than he’d hugged that boat motor and wanting to throw him onto the floor and sit on him until he promised never to use his super-powers again. After all, as we could plainly see, submerged logs equaled kryptonite. I wandered around the house, checking the clock often, wondering just how long I was required to keep up this “nice” bit.

I soon began to think drastic measures might not be necessary. As he sank into his recliner and spent Father’s Day (and several days afterward) muttering to himself, I thought Smuffy might have taken the cure. Over and over, I heard things like, “I thought I’d killed Steve”, “What was I going to tell Darlene?”, “I never want to go in a boat again as long as I live,” and “I’ll just fix it up and sell it.”

My sense of relief was three-fold. I had Smuffy home, safe and sound. He hadn’t killed Steve and he had learned his lesson – no more of these crazy water adventures.

The following week passed, quiet and uneventful. Then, Smuffy began muttering again. I couldn’t believe my ears.

“I think I know where that motor is.,” he said, pausing to scratch some poison ivy that had sprouted along his arms and legs.

“What?”

“The spare motor that I threw overboard. I know exactly where I dropped it. I’ll bet I could find it.”

I tried to be gentle. After all, people in shock do talk gibberish sometimes. “But it’s at the bottom of the river, Dear. It’s ruined!”

“I’ve dried motors out before.”

“But you don’t have a boat to go get it with,” I pointed out. “It’s sitting in the driveway, full of holes.”

“I could take the canoe…”

“What!”

“It wouldn’t take that long – I know right where it is.  Do we have any calamine lotion and some gauze?  I must have crawled through a field of  poison ivy when I climbed up the bank all those times to try and call you.”

I was not softened by this, despite the cute factor.

“There’s no way you are ever going out on water alone again. I can’t stand the strain. The only person silly enough to go with you is someone who’s had the sense knocked into him and I have a funny feeling Darlene will put her foot down at the slightest mention of it.”

“I know right where it is…”

“Stop it!”

“Steve wouldn’t have to go on the water. All he’d have to do is just drive me up to the river access, just ahead of where I dropped the motor, then I’ll get the motor and come on home in the canoe!”

“No! That’s miles and miles back home. No!”

“If we start out early, there’s no way I wouldn’t be home by dark.”

“No! No! No!”

I repeated this over and over for a solid week, adding emphasis to it with the stinkiest stink-eye I possessed, arms crossed while snorting air through my nostrils like an irate bull, flinging my hands into the air, leaving the room in a huff and if I remember correctly, slamming a few doors.

Saturday rolled around and as Smuffy opened the door to climb in to his truck, I stood at the door hoping my icy stare, aimed up and down his spine, would paralyze him into submission.

“Dark!” I yelled.

“I’ll be home by dark for sure!”

“Because at dark-thirty, I’m calling the sheriff and I mean it!”

“That wouldn’t do any good. What do you think they’re gonna do?”

“It might not do any good, but it’ll put your name in paper! Something has got to be the cure for this type of insanity!”

I watched him give himself a thorough scratching before climbing into his truck.  I’m not the kind of woman who’d say he got what he deserved, but I am the kind of woman who has the thought go through her mind like a speeding motorboat before she can help herself.

Smuffy rolled out of the driveway on his way to pick up Steve. I heaved a sigh, waited a decent interval and called Darlene.

And that, dear readers, is only the beginning of it.

Subscribe!   Don’t miss Part II of “Life with Smuffy (Episode 4): That Sinking Feeling Returns” (or, “Shoeless, Clueless and as Wet as it Gets”)

Comments? I’d love to hear from you. (As you can see, this girl needs all the support she can get!) Just scroll back up and click on “Leave a Comment” under the title of this post. On a mobile device, this may appear all the way to the bottom of the river – I mean post!

Have a happy, fun and SAFE Father’s Day weekend!

I think I need a little time out before telling you the rest of this story.

While you wait, be sure to check out my Smokin’ Hot Honeymoon with Smuffy!