My father passed away in March of this year. This story is not about his passing. Truth is, I’m not ready to talk or write about that yet. This story is about part of the legacy he left for my sister and me. Dad was always full of life; in fact, he was larger than life. And he did it so effortlessly. He stays on my mind a great deal and, sometimes—although he wouldn’t have wanted it—it makes me sad. I expect that will be the case for the rest of my days. However, there is one place that I do not ever feel the sadness of his passing, only the joy and the happiest times of his life on his boat, at the dock and out on the lake.

Dad left my sister and me a houseboat and a pontoon boat. They are docked at Fate Sanders Marina on dock E. When we first started dealing with Dad’s estate, the idea was tossed around to sell the boats. That thought only lasted a couple of minutes. Becky (my sister) and I came to the same conclusion almost instantly: Dad would have wanted us to keep and use those boats. The lake was Dad’s happiest place to be. He spent almost all his weekends there and wanted his family to join him as often as they cared to. Truth be known, I didn’t spend enough time there. Dad wanted me to learn about the boats and how to navigate the lake; to be a bigger part of his lake life. But I had my own irons in the fire and I’m terrible at budgeting time. So, I’m sad to say, I didn’t spend enough time with my father on the lake.

After the funeral, when life began to find a somewhat normal rhythm again, I decided to go down to the dock and just “be there.” I was worried about what my own state of mind would be when I got there. There was a good chance I was going to be a crying mess, or at least sad. But, to my surprise, the boat was the one place where I did not feel sad. There were so many good memories on that boat that I couldn’t feel sad. Every time sadness tried to creep up on me, a funny memory or quote from my dad would come to mind and I would smile or just laugh outright. For me, the healing process began right there, and I made up my mind that I would treat the boat and all that came with it with the same reverence and zeal that my father had done. That meant I had a lot of repairs to do.

To be honest, up to this point I have only fixed one (and there were several) water leaks and that’s just the beginning of it. There is an old saying that a boat is a hole in the water that you dump money in. That’s funny and true, but if you love it, it don’t matter. I paid a friend and good marine mechanic to fix the leaks on the house boat. He has also performed a lot of work on the pontoon boat and isn’t finished yet. The last year of Dad’s life, he wasn’t able to maintain the boats the way he always had, he was just too ill. I will share this with you about my father’s passing: the last conversation I had with my dad, we made a plan to go to lunch and go check on his boats. We never got the chance; he went to the emergency room that night and never saw his boat again. So, there were a lot of routine repairs and matters of maintenance that are still in progress.

One of the best surprises about spending time at the dock is the sense of community that exists there. There are people who spend their weekends there and some live there year-round. Some have big boats and some have smaller ones. Dad’s boat was a smaller one, but it is big enough for two people to be comfortable in and it was large enough to entertain several landlubbers, except for the shower—it is so small you have to step outside of it to wash between your toes. That is something I will upgrade someday soon.

No matter the size your boat, you are part of the gang if you are on E dock. I imagine it’s like that on the other docks as well, but as of this writing, I haven’t spent any time on the other docks. I have often jokingly referred to the dock as a “floating trailer park,” but, I have to add, there isn’t a trailer park, or mansion, I’d rather be in. Growing up, in the days before easy access to mass media, I remember playing in my neighborhood with children of families we knew well. Parents would walk around the block and stop and talk to each other. They knew each other on a first-name basis. If someone walked past your porch, they would be offered a sweet tea or a beer, if the men were in the garage. Everyone talked to each other about the day’s events and the news, and everybody complained about the heat. It is my opinion that those days of community and neighbors have been replaced by 160-plus cable channels, Facebook and Twitter. It is my opinion that if you know and regularly speak to more than one of your neighbors on a regular basis, you are the exception to the rule. That’s just the way life is today, except for dock E. Somebody is always cooking something, and you can have some. Have a seat on someone’s boat and they will offer you a beer or a sweet tea, depending on your preference (usually beer). Everybody on the dock knows everyone else on a first-name basis. And if you don’t live there full-time, they are generally pleased to see you when you do show up (again, bring beer).

That’s a good feeling that is honestly missing in most of the world today. I’m not saying that this sense of community is exclusive to the dock; I’m sure there are neighborhoods where it still exists, but it’s not commonplace anymore. One of my favorite things to do at the dock is sit on the back of Dad’s boat and watch the sun go down. It is an exceptional sight to watch it go down over the lake.

I went to our family cemetery on Father’s Day and visited with Dad. I noticed that, at dusk, the view from the top of the hill where he rests looks a great deal like the view from the back of the boat. There is a picture of Dad on the headstone, and he is smiling. He picked his own spot for interment, and after watching the sun set from his graveside, I think I know why.

There are so many things I owe thanks to my father for, but today, I am thankful to him for leaving such a place to enjoy my free time, same as he did. My weekends are busy at the moment, but I think, at least one day this week, I will go down to the dock, sit on the back of the boat with a cold beer and a cigar, watch a beautiful sunset and talk to Dad.