Charting A Course

As my dad walked me down to the river, the morning sun peeked over his shoulder and flickered through the trees. I was about 5 years old. Mom was waiting at the water’s edge, holding a small raft made of pieces of wood that had been lashed together. They embraced me, placed me on the raft, and handed me a paddle, just the right size for my age and strength. I set off, and when I looked back, they were …


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