The smell of salt water, shrimp, gasoline, and creosote-soaked dock boards permeated the air. Karen sat on one side of the front seat in the old wooden boat, bundled to the neck in her life preserver, extending one hand over the side of the boat, tickling the water with her fingers. Cathy sat on the other side of the front seat, silently watching other fisherman leave the dock and head out toward the open water of Galveston’s East Bay.

One family’s fishing trip. Mom claimed her usual spot, sitting on the bow of the boat looking back impatiently toward Dad as he pulled the starter rope. I sat on the dock holding the boat with my feet. And I watched as Dad took the straw hat from his head, wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, pumped the gas tank, and gave the starter rope one more sharp pull.

As the motor fired off, we all seemed to breathe a comfortable sigh. None of us, except Dad, ever knew for sure if the old motor would run. And no one worked any harder than Dad, making sure we had a good early start on a morning fishing trip.

Two parental natures. A slight southeasterly breeze carried the ocean scent far inland to prompt this simple snapshot of one of my earliest memories—a memory of three siblings, caught between two parental natures. One sat on the bow of the boat with agitated impatience. The second worked in the back of the boat with unwavering confidence that the motor would start, so a day’s fishing would begin.

Three unique siblings. Sitting on the dock with my feet in the boat, I felt somewhat irritated that Dad would never buy a new motor. My silent irritation often resulted in me not fully committed to getting into the boat. Having been there when the motor didn’t crank, I always wondered what would happen if we got out into the bay, and the contrary, old motor wouldn’t crank, when it was time to go home.

Karen sat quietly in the boat, apparently unruffled by Dad’s efforts to crank the motor, exhibiting an almost indifference to the whole scene. Cathy, just being herself, displayed mannerisms and patience that seemed more aligned with Dad than Mom.

A family legacy. Recalling the moment, my thoughts turn to the patience of our dad, and the polar-opposite temperament of Mom. Characteristics and beliefs of both were passed down to our generation. Some inherited characteristics remain relatively intact, while others tempered our personal life choices, resulting in each of us weathering commitments to relationships, spouses, extended families, and faith—believing that Christ will complete the work He began in us during those early years. 

© 2009 Tommy Barnes All Rights Reserved
Gene T. ‘Tommy’ Barnes, a retired Safety Professional with ExxonMobil, addresses topics about his faith as viewed through work, family, and hobbies. Tommy and his wife, Penny, live in Southeast Texas. They have three married daughters and five grandchildren.

Photos/BarnesFamily

What family characteristics and beliefs were passed down to you? What legacy will you leave the next generation?