It was mid-July at Lake Of Bays in Ontario, Canada. I was nine. My brothers and dad walked over to the neighbors to pick up a little, red tin boat called "The Bird". It had been sitting in the forest for years. We were finally going to put it to use. That 9.8 mercury engine purred like a cat, but only after 43 pulls on the line. It was a one stroke, stalled a bit, but it worked. The boat was mine. I had been waiting to have my own set of wheels and finally, I did. I felt like I was flying. Neutral to reverse to neutral to forward. The engine clicked as I switched gears and hopped off. I was alone. I was trusted. I was excited. I was a baby bird pushed out of the nest. A delay before flight, but I did it. I lived to tell the tale.
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