It happens to just about every parent. The day comes when the only or last kid moves out of the house. Off to college, a job, or a White House internship. It sucks.

Being boat people like you, the Admiral and I are also losing our crew. The “young boy” is now a strapping 18-year-old young man with 13 years of experience on the family Tiara convertible I bought when he was five. Our crew literally grew up on By Design in the summertime. He knows that boat inside and out, from the zincs on the rudders to the burgee staff on the bow, both of which he has replaced over the years with dad. And as you read this in the summer of 2026, he’s a few weeks away from going “poof.” Off to college and an NCAA swimming career. And I’m going to have to do a lot more of the heavy lifting.

By the time my son was eight he could tie a forward midship spring line. A high-level competitive swimmer since he was knee high to a trout, he’s always been strong enough to hoist a battery from deep in the bilge. At 11 he was replacing the flax in the rudder stuffing boxes under dear old dad’s careful supervision. Until he was 13 he was smaller than me, and really useful in crawling into hot and cramped spaces that don’t have my name on them. In recent years, though, he’s become big and strong, what with the 12,000 yards a day he does in the pool. So that strength has come in handy in a hundred ways, from hoisting the Honda four stroke off the dinghy when we wanted to turn it over, to fending off a Hinckley Sou’wester 42 attempting an errant docking. That skipper owes him a beer in three years. 

Cruising without him is going to require a rethink of some of our best practices. It’s been 10 years since I’ve had to lift a finger to tie lines, hook up any combination of shore power anywhere on the Great Lakes, or think about a water connection. He cheerfully does it all. His reward is usually the most expensive damn item on the menu wherever we go to dinner. Well worth it.

There’s a particularly calm and shallow anchorage off a place called Fish Creek, and our little swimmer would personally check the set of the anchor with just a few feet under the keel. I could see him the entire time in those clear emerald waters from my perch on the bow pulpit. He’d try to climb the anchor chain over and over but, like many things in life, never quite made it all the way to the top. I’m guessing by the time you read this he’s crossed that one off the to-do list.

We’re pretty good with preventative maintenance, but sometimes grit happens. After a four-hour passage in the summer of 2024 we pulled into some tiny harbor town for fuel. It was a hot day. And our cursory engine room check revealed a developing tinkle from the port shaft’s stuffing box. We carry packing nut wrenches, of course. But I didn’t want to rely on a 16-year-old as my only assistant if we were going to do an in-water flax redux. Soon, two marine mechanics joined us in the hot engine room. Both of them failing to summon the strength to break the packing nut threads free in the stifling heat, the young crew said, “Guys, let me give it a shot.” Seconds later, those threads were singing. By the time we could high-five one another, those two mechanics were nowhere to be found, bested by a kid stronger than both of them. Using his experience with the rudder shaft packing a few years prior, we tag-teamed it and had fresh new flax cut and clamped in less than five minutes. Surrounded by full-temp engines. Sweating bullets. In the water. Grit does happen. 

Enjoy college, crew. By Design is going to miss you.

This article originally appeared in the June/July 2026 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.