Tradition!

The “Red Head” was my great-grandfather’s nickname. He was a mariner from a line of mariners and most favored Nicholas as either a first or middle name. Saint Nicholas is the patron of sailors, so it fits with the family’s maritime connections. On my mother’s side of the family, she came from a small island in the Caribbean where seamanship, fishing, and piracy loomed large in the types of occupation available to the youth.

My father was a marine engineer who only came ashore after two torpedo sinkings and the end of World War II. I was in the Navy and spent enough time at sea to qualify as a bluewater sailor. Half of that time was aboard a ketch-rigged sailboat with a former Merchant Marine master mariner who resented every moment spent on land.

When the Jubilee comes, most of the above individuals will be asking for easy berths aboard the celestial yacht so they can sail the Blessed Isles for eternity. Yes, soft swinging hammocks, no bosun mates harassing you to get up and go on watch, ship’s work, or have holiday swabbing decks. Instead, you leisurely rise, get on your Sunday best, and head ashore for liberty.
The Shore Patrol smiles indulgently at your antics, and you almost hate to go back aboard, but Cookie is making your favorite meal for dinner. So you bid adieu to the lovely one who has been your companion and climb the gangway.

Being a seaman and a BS artist are two of my family traditions.
Now, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.