Inside the cabin, my cousin and I gazed out of the window confidently at the far shoreline of Deer Lake, 2 miles away. From the sandbar just off shore, to the small notches in the treeline far away, to the point in the shoreline off to the North in the bay, it was all exhilarating. The sweltering 4th of July Day always had a favorite activity, the boat flotilla around the lake. My cousin Wyatt and I were determined, like the previous year, to try and join the flotilla with our red, white, and blue decked out paddleboat. We didn’t need to worry or overthink because we knew the plan, and had done it before. It was a good decision. The overconfidence of two fifth graders was truly something else. 

Later, on the beach, Grandpa’s boat beeped and the motor growled, the flotilla began to sail by in the bay. Parents, aunts and uncles, wyatt, and I waved to cousins and grandparents idling out into the parade of boats. The red Lund got smaller and smaller as it cruised away. Now it was time. Wyatt and I exchanged a look, we both knew what to do. I went to let my dad know the plan. After receiving confirmation, I began to walk away, but stopped in my tracks. My mind faltered for a moment, “That would be completely stupid for what your about to do…” But I shook off the feeling. I daringly looked back and peeped “Do we have to wear life jackets?” My dad, hardly looking up from his magazine said, “No, you’ll be okay.” Perfect.

Ankle deep in the lake, I leaned in and began pushing the gleaming silver pontoons of the paddleboat into the water. The boat slid off the shoreline into the water, and Wyatt began drifting the paddleboat to face the bow towards the flotilla, which was now sailing off the South shoreline of Deer. For a perfect touch, I plopped my one-year-old mini goldendoodle on the back seat, and we set off. Past the raft, my cousin and I decided that if we were to catch up to the flotilla in time, we would need to paddle like mad. The bow faced West, a straight shot to the flotilla, and we cranked the pedals. The howling wind blew us to the North, but persistent peddling and strong-armed steering kept the craft going.

At the mouth of the bay, we paused to take in the view. This was the border of our adventures, an unofficial wall between the resort and the rest of the lake. But suddenly again, my mind faltered. Wyatt and I exchanged glances, but suddenly it seemed… sketchy. We still had no life jackets and Kenya, my dog, was beginning to whine and fret. The flotilla had disappeared around the corner of North bay, and was out of sight, stealing our confidence. The waves, seemingly bigger than before, were rocking the craft and splashing onto the pontoons. All of a sudden, spooked out of his skin, Kenya leapt off the paddleboat into the water, and began doggy-paddling several feet away. Wyatt and I both yelled out in panic, Wyatt began bringing the boat around and I climbed out on the back left pontoon, balancing like an acrobat on the water. Carefully bending over I scooped Kenya out of the waves and spun him into a towel. This adventure was becoming a disaster, and the guilt of the stupid choices were beginning to crawl up my spine like a cold shiver. 

We were floating several hundred yards from any shoreline of the lake, and in the East two small objects were heading our way. The two kayaks looked like birds flapping their wings one at a time, but they were slowly moving towards us. After a few minutes, the two forms of people in the kayaks took the shape of my loving mom and dad. The long strokes of the kayaks caught up to us, and soon I heard my name being shouted over the waves. Wyatt and I stopped the peddling and turned to hear what my parents were saying: “You need to come back! This is way too far out. Where are your life jackets?” A sick feeling immediately overtook my stomach, the full on guilt and embarrassment for my stupidity dawned on me suddenly after an hour-long buildup. We slipped on our life jackets and turned the paddleboat back to the cabin. As the solemn ride back to shore progressed, boats from the flotilla began to appear around us, the original goal itself. But instead of greeting our paddle boat decked with flags, it was sneers and angry expressions for being in the way with our slow, bulky boat. 

As the boat hit the beach, mom and dad came out angrily from the cabin, extremely upset. All the other members of the flotilla had parked boats on the beach and were slurping rootbeer floats out behind the cabin, but my parents and us two troublemakers were the only ones not enjoying ourselves. Wyatt and I shrunk into the seats of the paddle boats like ashamed puppies, while the real puppy happily hopped off the paddleboat and tore back to the cabin. It was all scolding about being dumb, how we should’ve said how far we were going to travel, and why we should’ve NEVER brought my dog. My little fifth grade mind was full of embarrassment and shock, just not that I  hadn’t thought through anything, but that we got turned around and dragged back in front of family, friends, and the whole lake community. That morning we had a little fourth of July stupid. As I walked back to the cabin with a tear in my eye, I was in no mood for rootbeer floats. But it was enough to make sure that I would think through decisions, never forget to rethink no matter the experience, and strive to make safe choices.