Mr. Robert Wolfton was an interesting man in the least. He was Air force Strong, not terribly talkative, and- most importantly- my father. The camping trip would be the first and only time I spent more than five hours or so with my father that year. We got along alright. When I was a kid he was my hero but, as we both got older, we grew apart. The camping trip was really our one and only bonding time every year. Unfortunately, that meant we didn’t get along so well. It was pretty evident as we struggled to keep the canoe from tipping.
We both stayed pretty quiet at first aside from what I needed to know in order to paddle correctly. He was in the front of the canoe, I was in the back. I was getting about as paranoid as I had been with Willis, but I felt a bit more competent. At least my father wasn’t an eagle scout. Still, I felt like I was constantly doing something wrong.
It got worse when we kept turning three hundred and sixty degrees around. Every. Single. Time we came out of a set of rapids. As the angry grey sky finally let its heavy tears fall down on us, the tension in the air got even thicker. Once more we came out of the white water and turned around, putting us under the dangerous tree tops. Finally, he broke. He lashed out at me.
It of course, wasn’t like he was being abusive, he hardly even raised his voice, but he had always been good at ripping a person to microscopic size with his words. I just sat in silence, there was really no chance for me to respond anyway.
We then continued on our way, Dr.Radcliff eventually corrected my father on a simple paddle mistake. Shortly after, we stopped spinning around when we got out of rough water.
If it wasn’t for the increasing rain and sudden emergency decision by the Dr.Radcliff and Mr.Ashford to get out of the water, the situation would have been laughable.