They do things differently on ships. They call stuff by different names. For instance, you can’t just go to the john. You have to go to the head. And ships don’t just move…they make way. And they do other stuff along the way, like when they launch a ship, once it is built to the point where it will actually float. Because if you haven’t noticed, you cannot build a steel ship in the water.
So ya see, they build those big steel ships on land on top of a wooden framework. Then later, when they figure it’ll hold water (out), they build a big slide, called ways, and then shift the weight of the ship onto wooden sliding thingys, called sliding ways, and with great swings of heavy hammers, they remove the various things holding things together until the crash of a champagne bottle provides the straw for this camel, and the ship goes, “WHEE!!!!!” all the way down the ways and into the water. With a nice splash. And hopefully, the thing stays right side up, cause when it doesn’t, it is SO embarrassing.
They always leave at least one rope tied to the ship, lest it wander off and get into even more trouble. With this rope, you can pull the ship back to shore and hold it there until all construction is finally finished, and then eventually you let other people drive the ship away and it heads for places all round the world.
So one of the things we got done when we went to Germany for the wedding, was the first re-gathering in about five years, of our brood in its entirety. We’ve seen the kids in ones and twos a few times, but not since the famous diarrhea summit in Wyoming have we snuck as many as three into one room for our enjoyment, and longer than that for all four. I had borrowed a trick taught me by my own parents. They found the best way to get the kids together when we didn’t want to be called kids anymore, was to set the meeting in Wyoming. Worked every time for them. Well, apparently watching one of them get married works, too.
We sat in a jet lag fog in Frankfurt, watching them interact, admiring them, and marveling at the simple reality that they all were still afloat.
I don’t know if you’ve seen the film, but I remember it well. It was shot in black and white, like all the newsreels. The workers stood about in hard hats and leather gloves, large heavy hammers in hand. And the dignitaries in their dark suits and the designated champagne bottle smasher, a large women slightly overdressed, were perched on the stand by the bow. Intricate scaffolding surrounded the hull of the ship. The bottle swung from its ribbon, and burst in splendor against the bow, men swung hammers against the last shims, and then the ship slowly started down the ways, building speed, and finally splashing into the water. Where it promptly turned turtle, and sank below the dirty water. Bummer.
I once described a high school graduation by recalling the opening scene from “Top Gun”, where amid the chaos and noise on the deck of a nuclear aircraft carrier, stern but excited looking pilots were launched, along with 14 million dollar aircraft, from steam catapults on the bow of the ship. Well, this week’s cheap trick will try to compare the assembly and final release into the world of children with the construction and launch of a steel ship. Neat, huh?
I know…it ain’t the same. But bear with me.
You can’t build a kid in the water, either. Sure, sometimes you wonder if you shouldn’t just kick them in and let them sink or swim, but most of us prefer the traditional way. So we assemble a complex of scaffolding and supports in a safe place. We start with a blueprint, which we follow up to a point. Sometimes when the parts we ordered don’t fit just right, we will ad lib the thing for a while until you can’t see light through the cracks any more. For it doesn’t pay to blindly follow the rules if you can see they are leading you to a serious leak.
There is a schedule, but leave some room for overtime that you didn’t plan for. Cause there is always overtime. Don’t hesitate to call in an outside consultant if needed. And never hesitate to buy that retired foreman a beer so you can pick his brain when ya just can’t figure where that one piece of the puzzle goes.
It’s always more difficult than you thought, and even when you work from the same blueprints, no two ships ever turn out the same. And when you are standing there watching, when the work seems finished, and you see the men hammering away the shims so the ship can begin to launch, and the fat lady swings the bottle, that knot still forms in your throat, each and every time, no matter how many ships you have successfully launched, cause ya just never know what can go wrong.
So you get the big splash, and then you wait while the ship sways back and forth in the water for a moment, and then it settles down perfectly straight, and the cheer reverberates through the crowd, and you know ya did good. And then you tug on the rope and pull the ship back in, and you finish the rest of the assembly. Then there are sea trials, where you test the ship on short journeys and there is no rope to tug it back, and then finally you watch as the ship heads across great oceans, to far distant ports, and you hope the folks that take over for you and sail with that ship are capable and wise.
And you know that there are storms. And you wonder just a bit if you see your ship sailing in loose circles while it seeks its best course, and you wonder even when you cannot see the ship, if it has yet found its course. But you cannot change a thing once it has sailed.
What we saw when our fleet came together last month made our hearts soar. Four ships, each looking shipshape. We no longer follow every inch of every journey of these ships, because we don’t have to. They are doing just fine, on their own.
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