It’s a fact that even pros can occasionally make huge mistakes in their fields of expertise. When it happens, the result is often hilarious. Such was the case with my brother-in-law Lee, some thirty years ago.
Lee is from Texas and scheduled to wed Betsy, Anne’s only sibling. It was Betsy’s second marriage but Lee’s first. Relatives from Texas began pouring into town to begin a week of festivities. The wedding reception was at our house on Ski Island.
Many creeks dissect central Oklahoma, some dammed in Oklahoma City to form small lakes. This lakeside property most often becomes sites for housing developments. Anne and I lived in one such subdivision called Ski Island and our house backed up to Ski Island Lake. It was a natural party house and Betsy and Lee’s wedding reception was just one of many we hosted there.
The subdivision allows no fences between houses so everyone knows their neighbors well. We had a large backyard, a boat dock where we kept a small ski boat and a small sailboat. Lee is a Texas Aggie and an executive at the time. I had never seen him out of control before the week of his marriage and I haven’t seen him drunk since, but during the week prior to marrying Betsy, he never sobered up.
Lee was a Navy officer during Vietnam and knows a thing or two about ships. He also had a large sailboat that he kept on Lake Hefner and sailed regularly. To say that he is a sailing expert is no exaggeration. You couldn’t have proven it by anyone at the wedding reception.
At least a hundred guests from several states crowded our house on Ski Island, most drinking beer, mixed drinks or my famous 151 proof rum punch. Everyone was enjoying the party, alcohol flowing freely. I was reveling in the celebration, but Lee was leading the parade.
“One of these days, you need to teach me how to sail that little boat,” I said.
“What’s wrong with right now? You have an extra bathing suit lying around, don’t you?”
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to launch a sailboat out into the lake, even with an expert sailor. My two nephews, Mike and Scott were sober, but apparently not as wizened as I was. Soon, a cheering party watched the three of them push away from the dock in the two-man sailboat. They managed to make it to the middle of the lake before Lee toppled into the water, taking Mike and Scott along with him.
Ski Island isn’t deep but Lee was very drunk. He might have drowned on his wedding day but Mike and Scott kept him from sinking until we took the ski boat out and rescued them, towing the sailboat behind us.
Watching the many sailboats at Lake Hefner with my Dad today reminded me that even pros sometimes make embarrassing mistakes. Such was the case some thirty years ago at a tiny lake in central Oklahoma. It also reminds me that one of these days I need to ask Betsy how her wedding night turned out.
Lee is from Texas and scheduled to wed Betsy, Anne’s only sibling. It was Betsy’s second marriage but Lee’s first. Relatives from Texas began pouring into town to begin a week of festivities. The wedding reception was at our house on Ski Island.
Many creeks dissect central Oklahoma, some dammed in Oklahoma City to form small lakes. This lakeside property most often becomes sites for housing developments. Anne and I lived in one such subdivision called Ski Island and our house backed up to Ski Island Lake. It was a natural party house and Betsy and Lee’s wedding reception was just one of many we hosted there.
The subdivision allows no fences between houses so everyone knows their neighbors well. We had a large backyard, a boat dock where we kept a small ski boat and a small sailboat. Lee is a Texas Aggie and an executive at the time. I had never seen him out of control before the week of his marriage and I haven’t seen him drunk since, but during the week prior to marrying Betsy, he never sobered up.
Lee was a Navy officer during Vietnam and knows a thing or two about ships. He also had a large sailboat that he kept on Lake Hefner and sailed regularly. To say that he is a sailing expert is no exaggeration. You couldn’t have proven it by anyone at the wedding reception.
At least a hundred guests from several states crowded our house on Ski Island, most drinking beer, mixed drinks or my famous 151 proof rum punch. Everyone was enjoying the party, alcohol flowing freely. I was reveling in the celebration, but Lee was leading the parade.
“One of these days, you need to teach me how to sail that little boat,” I said.
“What’s wrong with right now? You have an extra bathing suit lying around, don’t you?”
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to launch a sailboat out into the lake, even with an expert sailor. My two nephews, Mike and Scott were sober, but apparently not as wizened as I was. Soon, a cheering party watched the three of them push away from the dock in the two-man sailboat. They managed to make it to the middle of the lake before Lee toppled into the water, taking Mike and Scott along with him.
Ski Island isn’t deep but Lee was very drunk. He might have drowned on his wedding day but Mike and Scott kept him from sinking until we took the ski boat out and rescued them, towing the sailboat behind us.
Watching the many sailboats at Lake Hefner with my Dad today reminded me that even pros sometimes make embarrassing mistakes. Such was the case some thirty years ago at a tiny lake in central Oklahoma. It also reminds me that one of these days I need to ask Betsy how her wedding night turned out.
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