My dad did his best to teach me how our boat worked from a young age, but as a boy with a strong imagination, I was easily distracted. I would sit in the engine room as he changed the oil or help open the tops of gallons of antifreeze late into the winter. My flashlight-holding skills left much to be desired, as words of wisdom floated in one ear and out the other. As a teenager, I could muster just enough manual labor to help with chores such as washing and waxing the boat, coiling lines, and dealing with fenders—but I never really bought into learning how to own and maintain a boat.
The truth is, while I enjoyed weekends and vacations aboard, I never dreamed of owning a boat myself. If you were to tell the teenage version of me that he would become the editor of the boating magazine he casually flipped through when it arrived in the mail, he would never have believed you. Life’s funny that way—you never quite know where the tides will take you.
On a warm, sunny fall weekend, I took Connor to the boatyard as I winterized the boat and took down the canvas, a job that should take less than an hour. We ascended the ladder and I dropped him into the cockpit. No sooner had his soles touched the deck than he announced, “Dad, I’m hungry.”
“Ugh, fine,” I muttered as I salvaged a Rice Krispies treat from the salon.
I assembled the bucket, lined up the antifreeze and hose, and prepared to winterize the engines.
“Dad, is this pink lemonade?”
“No, it’s antifreeze,” I replied. Crouched beside him, I calmly explained why we need to winterize the engines and water system each year to avoid freezing. He looked at me intently as I explained it all. He’s really learning, I thought to myself.
“Well, I still want to call it pink lemonade,” he said. “Even though it’s not pink lemonade, I want to think it is.”
Oh, boy.
After a few minutes he proclaimed, “Dad, I’m still hungry.”
Deep exhale. “OK, here,” I said, handing him some stale peanut butter pretzels.
As I began taking down the canvas, I asked him to help straighten up and put the empty gallon containers together in the corner of the cockpit. What he did instead was pretend he was a robot and that the containers were his robot hands. He smashed his plastic fists together and laughed for about five minutes straight … until he was hungry again.
Ever a fan of the short ferry ride that takes us to our marina on Essex Island, he has been proclaiming to all who will listen that he wants to become a boat captain one day. I told him that if he wants to be a boat captain, he has to know how to coil lines, and I patiently showed him how. He nodded sincerely and began coiling as I finished taking down the canvas.
“Dad, look—it’s a snake,” he proclaimed as he gleefully dragged the line across the cockpit.
It was one of those circle-of-life moments. It feels like just yesterday I was the one daydreaming through boat lessons.
The one job he eagerly participated in was throwing out the garbage in the dumpster, which he pretended was either a monster or another robot—maybe both. He didn’t even want help as he ran back and forth feeding the beast our garbage and used paper towels.
Finally finished, he announced, “Phewf, that was hard work. Can we get a treat?”
Despite already consuming hundreds of calories, I acquiesced, and we made our way to Dairy Queen. Sitting on the truck bed with raspberry sauce all over his face and his feet swinging, he had thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon chores—and the truth is, so had I. Always the entertainer, he didn’t do much for my efficiency, but I can honestly say winterizing was never more fun.
I’ll miss these days.
See you on the water,
Dan
daniel.harding@firecrown.com
@danhardingboating
This article originally appeared in the March 2026 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
