4th always special with Dad Holiday stirs memories of family gatherings

Happy Fourth of July. My father passed away July 28, 2005, but he was able to enjoy one last family gathering on the Fourth.

In my father’s house, sports were what he watched while others played them. When we took up summer residence at our Branch Lake cottage in Ellsworth in 1966, all of our sporting lives changed.

My father had a nifty little inboard/outboard motorboat, and he loved being the harbormaster for a variety of water-related activities.

I have one vivid memory of a Fourth of July cookout, followed by the water sports that only people stuck indoors all winter can enjoy.

On this particular holiday, my friend Jim and I decided that the heat of the day necessitated a frolic in the drink.

Dad suggested that a trip across the broad expanse of Branch would be just what the doctor ordered to cool us off.

I have always been a strong proponent of gauging how things will go, based on how they start.

My friend Jim’s water-skiing excursion that hot July day was no exception.

Jim wore a neat little Speedo bathing suit – the operative word here is “little” – and my Dad preferred that his skiers sit on the edge of our dock, legs in the water, with a firm grip on the ski rope.

Dad idled the engine, then signaled to Jim that he was ready to start.

Vroom! And off they went. Much to the delight of those in attendance, and, for the record, unbeknownst to Dad, Jim’s swimsuit caught on a nail at the end of the dock and stayed put while Dad made his way across the lake.

Oh, my.

It took both the captain of the ship and the skier a few moments to figure out what the origin of all the laughing was around the campsite.

Jim, of course, was embarrassed, and Dad, ever-prudent, decided to make one sweeping turn of the lake and get him back home to his suit, which still resided at the edge of the dock.

In his haste to get the young boy back to the safety of his Speedo, Dad brought the skier a little too close to shore. Jim tumbled up on the beach, scurried into camp, then hid for the rest of the day.

The remaining skiers on this holiday prefaced their own launches by checking for all loose nails in the vicinity of the dock’s edge.

My father never talked about that episode again.

The 4th of July festivities always ended with my Uncle Bob’s homemade ice cream.

I have fond memories of cranking that old ice cream maker until my arms felt like they were falling off.

Next, Dad would produce some sparklers for the kids, and there was nothing quite like running along the beach, waving that holiday treat, and laughing as only kids can on a starlit night in the summer.

Somehow, this holiday will lack the splendor that Dad provided with his standard fare of lobsters, steak, and fresh corn.

We miss you, Dad.

Today’s festivities don’t seem quite the same without you.

BDN columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net