A Humble Sea Story

OK. What is it with me and all the damned sailing ships I carve? Well, this is no shit (TINS), and you can ask any of my family; they were there!
Well, it goes back a long way. To my earliest memories. Branded into memory is a vision of me as a babe lying on a cushion, having my bottle as I gazed upwards. What was I gazing at? A painting of a full-rigged ship sailing full on the wind racing towards me.
Day after day for, I don’t know how long, but certainly as long as we lived in that apartment.
Then later came the stories from my father of the Merchant Marine and of the Navy from my uncle. That was why I was sent to punishment drill often while in Boot Camp; I wore my Gob hat like a four-year veteran rather than the squared-away recruit they wanted.
Then there was my grandfather; his lousy heart kept him for the sea, but he carved and modeled a flotilla, everything ranging from a Great White Fleet Battle Cruiser to a cabin cruiser. The child’s tug boat he carved for his sons is still proudly displayed in my home.
If all the above was not enough, there was the folk family story that we were a line of seamen going back generations. I documented this genealogically with the added flavoring that my mother’s family were also Merchant seamen for several generations.

So that’s it. Me and all the damned sailing ships I carve.
If you want to make an issue of it, meet me at the local Blue Anchor and challenge me to a sea story Talkathon and I’ll BS your ears off. Davy Jones and Neptunas Rex will judge, and I’ll leave you to pay for the house’s booze that night.