The sun, at least, smiled on me while I struggled in the water, trying again to wrench skis the length of train tracks into the crucial, straight-up position. Stupidity did not run in my genes, as far as I knew. I must have just acquired it by chance. Compassion was not a strong family trait either, I learned. 

    My older brother, Charlie, had just superbly demonstrated the proper way to ski: a smooth take off and skipping across the wake of our speed boat as playfully as a dolphin. As usual, he was the perfect model of cool-headed, one-handed control.

    “Your turn to shine, Benji!” he now cried from the back of the boat. Why couldn't he just call me Ben? Picking up a yellow plastic oar, he smacked the water, spraying my already wet head.

    This was my first time water skiing. I wore the same skis he had masterfully sported only moments before. I concentrated my creative energies and almost felt the powerful skiing juju still slimed onto the old, rubber ski boots. Of course, it might have been algae.

    My  brothers and sisters lined up on the beach front a short distance away, my own built-in booster club. I raised my chin and peered at them over the neon-orange lifejacket that rose above my ears. With one hand, I tried to force it down a little, and failing, made a half-hearted wave to my mom. She stood off by herself, not looking at me. I could see her fumbling with our digital camera, which was still cutting-edge technology, as far as she was concerned.

    “Hey, Ben!” yelled another brother from the shore, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Nice knowin' ya!”

    “Can I have your iPod?” added my sister beside him.

    My stomach sank into my swim trunks as I floated low in the water, my knees tucked close to my chest. It couldn't go worse than my first bowling disaster, I assured myself. Even I can't break a lake.

    The skis slipped into an 'x' in front of me. That was not good. While I uncrossed the skis, I recalled Dad's instructions. “Get the skis straight. When you're ready, say 'hit it'. Hold on tight. Thumbs up for faster, thumbs down for slower.” I jostled with the towrope, positioning it between the teetering skis. I steeled my grip on the wooden handle.

    “Go already!” yelled Charlie from the boat.

    Dredging up positive thoughts, I visualized the rope tightening, easing me out of the water, and me rising like a pre-teen Poseidon. With that image firmly in place, I called “Hit it!”

    Before I could close my mouth, the rope snapped, almost jerking out of my grasp, and launched me into the air like a para-sailer - only I had no sail, and now, no skis.

    Time slowed. The world fell silent. I felt strangely detached. On my upward trajectory, I observed the lake below, flinging the sun's rays out in a swath of brilliant, diamond sparks, like a jewelry heist gone wrong. The tiny people on the shore stood shoulder to shoulder, hands shading their upturned faces. The toy-like speed boat seemed a great way down, tethered to me still by the towrope clasped in my fists. A majestic blue heron was my sole companion in the warm, summer sky. It might have been a trick of the sunlight, but I thought it winked sympathetically at me.

    A moment later, the towrope yanked me out of my aerial dream, and gravity re-exerted its irresistible force with terrible ferocity. I plummeted back to earth at face-peeling speed.

    I don't recall the exact moment of impact, which might be due to momentary brain-sloshing. My eyes and mouth were clamped like vises, but I heard a rocket booster roar and knew I'd landed. The lake thundered in my ears, enraged at my sudden, rude and violent intrusion.

    I clung desperately to the towrope, my life line. Though my eyes remained scrunched closed, my excitable imagination conjured pale, slimy, toothy beasts darting just below me. Submerged trees and scaly creatures never seen by human eyes waited for me to release the towrope, to snag and drag me to the dark, unplumbed depths of the lake. The boat's motor relentlessly hammered away somewhere ahead of me. It was not even slowing down. Was Dad trying to kill me? How long could I hang on, holding my breath and spouting what must have been a colossal rooster-tail from my forehead? 

     In spite of my life and death struggle, and being somewhat dramatic by nature, I mentally drafted a hasty but sentimental obituary notice. In it, I made particular note of my weeping brothers and sisters, who bitterly regretted not showing their true love and admiration for me this side of heaven. I realized my mother would be devastated. Suddenly, I decided I didn't want it all to end this way – besides, I had to breathe.

    I loosened just a couple of fingers on each hand. The water took advantage of this new leverage and ripped them free.

    The roaring stopped. I bobbed to the surface. Sputtering profusely and blinking the lake out of my eyes, I spied the errant speed boat making a slow arcing turn back toward me, trailing the empty towrope in its wake.

    I corkscrewed my legs, spinning around in the water to locate my family, to reassure them by a feeble wave that I had survived. I was alright.

    Finally, I spotted them. Some of them hugged each other. One or two sat down, in apparent relief. As I dog-paddled closer, I saw teary rivulets streaming down their sunburned cheeks. I tried to choke out words of comfort, but they did not hear me. Eventually, the water sloshed its way out of my ear canals and I heard them.

    What was that - cries of joy? Hardly. Laughter stung my ears. Unrestrained hysterics rendered my siblings weak as guppies, completely unable to speak. They wiped their eyes with the heels of their hands and clutched their heaving sides.

    I dragged myself upright on the stony beach and attempted to stride out of the lake with dignity. I held my head high over the bulky, day-glo lifejacket. The pebbles pained my bare feet, however, blowing my plans for a stately exit.

    “Hey, Benny!” said my mom without looking up. She fixed her gaze on the camera's display screen and poked more buttons. “I think I actually got all that on video!”

    Guffaws rang out afresh.

    Great. I hobbled back to the minivan, where I had resolved to hang out for the rest of the afternoon. Sitting alone in the stuffy car, lake water pooling around me on the leather seat, I contemplated what went wrong. It wasn't my fault. Dad said hold on tight. Nobody ever mentioned letting go. Besides, maybe water skiing just wasn't my thing. A guy couldn't be great at everything.

    Hey, that's right! My chin shot up with new found confidence. Yes! My underwater skiing failed to impress, but just wait until they see me try snow skiing.