Millennial Grandstanding Miracle

The story of my reunification with water skis

Our extended family was enjoying a lovely holiday weekend out on the family boat. Waterskiing was the activity of the moment—collectively, our older children are at the prime ages for learning.

We decided to go youngest to oldest so as to keep emotions in check as best could be done in this type of situation. Bethany’s youngest son was up first. He tried with all his might and got up onto the skis for a few seconds before being so exhausted he wiped out. My daughter went next, popping out of the water with a little more ease, but only lasting less than a minute before losing her balance and taking a nose dive. Bethany’s oldest son was last. The most skilled, he looked like a natural out there, but when it came time to try to jump the wake, he was timid. He tried a few more times, and he couldn’t quite get it accomplished.

When he rejoined us in the boat, the day took an unexpected turn. My nephew, treating me as an ignoramus, began instructing me on the task at hand. I thought to myself, “Is this really happening right now? Is this kid who can barely get up on water skis trying to tell me (practically a professional) how it’s done?”

I reached into my parental playbook and initiated casual smack talk. I told him that I was the OG waterskier of this family and that I could teach him a few things. Before we knew it, we progressed to full-fledged ribbing—me telling him I could easily jump that wake and him whipping back that I wouldn’t even emerge from the water. The adults, amused, were egging us on. I secretly bent over and whispered to my sister Bethany:

“IF I get out of the water, I will not get over that wake. No chance.”

Challenged by my nephew, it became time to put my money where my mouth was. My confidence level going into this thing was approximately 4 out of 10. I felt like I could possibly get it done under the right circumstances, but it had been probably 20 years since I had been water skiing. I harkened back to my college days and when I broke my left hand on an unfortunate show-off back flip (confidence level for that was also 4 out of 10.)

I continued to hype up my game while donning my lifejacket, because safety first, particularly now that I’m in my 40’s. I immediately regretted bailing on PureBarre (my go-to for an upper body and core workout) for the last month and a half. I have my reasons, but suffice it to say the core ain’t what it should be. Knowing I would have to rely heavily on whatever ab strength I could muster to get my butt out of that water, this would be a “stored energy”-type situation.

As I tightened my life vest, excitement mixed with sheer terror washed over me. I haven’t felt this way in 20 years. I joked with my Dad about life insurance (didn’t land) and jumped into the lake, still talking smack.

Wetness hit my face with a splash of reality setting in thick.

The skis were tossed in the water, and I busied myself with putting them on, which you may know is one of the hardest things that a waterskier has to do. The first ski boot I tried to slip on (hah!) was such a terrible fit that I bent my thumbnail all the way backwards simply attempting to get my foot in it. Bad start. I over-adjusted the second one while putting it on, but there was no way I was going to be removing either one for a re-do.

Hence, I would be attempting this feat with one boot so tight it may never come off, and the other boot so large that my foot was actually swimming inside. My Dad started up the boat engine, and I watched the family float away.

This was when the dark thoughts started rolling into my head. “What if I blow this? This is gonna be a complete embarrassment. Do they know I was really joking around? This was a joke! They know that right? How’s it gonna feel to have a bunch of kids making fun of me because I couldn’t walk—no, waterski—the talk? Hey, that’s a funny mom joke. I’ll use it later. How’s it gonna feel when I wipe out and break my ankle? How’s this gonna feel tomorrow?”

As the boat inched further away, my fear rose. There’s something uniquely eerie about bobbing alone in the middle of a lake, preparing to attempt something questionable, the only sounds being distant laughter of children and the slapping of water against skis. The only site was a faint vision of my sister with an iPhone, prepared to film.

I sat in the water fighting to keep the skis in position, because Lord only knows what would happen if they ended up behind me. I thought, “I can barely keep the right starting position with the momentum of a boat practically in idle. How am I going to keep these things in front of me with the boat going 20 miles an hour?” Luckily, the solace of the situation allowed me to take a few deep breaths and tell my deep, dark thoughts to KNOCK IT OFF! I said, “It doesn’t matter how. You’re gonna do this, and you’re gonna show these kids what’s up because they need a lesson, damnit!” More deep breaths….

In our family, when you’re ready for Dad to step on the gas (well, in boat speak I guess it would be “put it in forward”), you yell to the captain, “HIT IT!”

The unspoken rule is that you get as much time as you need before those words are uttered, but once you say them, there’s no return. The boat will take off—fast—with or without you. My nephew learned that the hard way when he yelled the command and subsequently removed his hand from the handlebar.

I took one last deep breath, waited for a break in the water waves, and closed my eyes. “3, 2, 1” open the eyes and:

“HIT IT!!!!”

The boat engine revved, and I hung on for dear life. More intrusive thoughts. Oh no, I’m leaning too far to the left. Correct it! Oh no, I’ve over corrected, I’m done! But, remarkably, I didn’t feel the crash I expected.

Instead, in something that can only be described as a millennial grandstanding miracle, I stood up tall and began to…… ski?!

Uncontrollable laughter erupted from me in the way that emotion so easily does when one has utterly surprised herself. “Wow,” I said aloud, “I really did it!” Once I gathered my wits and saw the kids cheering, I determined they needed a show.

I began by doing the quintessential air fist in a circular motion, as if to tell them, “SEE THIS, KIDS?” Releasing the handle with one arm was no easy feat, so I grabbed it back rather quickly to avoid a wipeout. This was my one shot, better make the best of it.

Once confidence resumed, I proceeded to do the “6-7” gesture with my arms. If you don’t have small children, let me educate you. Basically, some dumb internet video went viral beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and all children of a certain age have decided that “6-7” is the coolest thing they could ever say in their lives. It can mean various things or nothing at all, but one common definition is “so-so” or “maybe.” It’s often accompanied by an arm gesture in which the child moves his or her hands in opposite directions as if to be weighing an option. Sadly, because of its wild popularity, “6-7” was named dictionary.com’s word of 2025.

Back to my skiing feat, my “6-7” gesture slayed all day. Nothing but smiles and laughter. These kids were eating out of my palm(s) while simultaneously beginning to actually respect me for a mediocre athletic accomplishment. What a day for a 42-year-old’s stock.

This is when I got a little overconfident. In my mind, I became one of those Sea World performers from circa 1998. Do you know what I’m talking about?

Man, those were the days. They say not all superheros wear capes, but my 14-year-old self would beg to differ. Anyway, picture me, as I did this day, as Wonder Woman at the top of the pyramid simultaneously balancing on two different people’s shoulders and carrying the flag.

My nephew gestured for me to jump the wake in perfect correlation with my rise in confidence / daydream.

No problem. Except that when I looked at the wake, it suddenly became six feet tall. This would be quite a jump. Timidly, I steered myself to the left and then thought better of it. I’d need more speed. Back to the middle.

Another deep breath.

With all my might, I pushed into the wake with the same fury of my five-year-old’s temper tantrums. We all know what comes next.

Shattered dreams.

Just as I went to jump the wake, my skis slid out from under me and it was all over. Luckily, no shattered bones, just a woman with a massive wedgie and a belly full of lake water.

My sister kindly tried to tell me that I, in fact, made it over the wake, citing this screen shot as evidence.

We certainly don’t have irrefutable proof. In fact, you can see my right ski just about to disappear out from under me at this moment, likely before I made it all the way over.

My nephew gave it another shot later that day, and he finally got it done. I’d like to think that a little healthy competition put him over the edge. (We won’t talk about his dad doing tricks out there like a real Sea World performer.) The big smile on my nephew’s face when he nailed it warmed my auntie-heart.

In the end, my gamble half paid off.

If I had to rate it, I’d give it a 6-7. That day, I learned a very important lesson about wagering to children with representations about your abilities. The kids, once disbelieving that I could do a hard thing, were shown that with enough willpower, you can at least get moving in the right direction. But if you want to climb mountains, you’ll have to have a little more grit.

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