How Hard Can It Be?: You Don’T Know What You Don’T Even Know

By Paul F. Hill Jr.

This story is about the true-to-life misadventures concerning the trials and tribulations of the problems one faces when trying to bring an old wooden boat back to life. The author was not a boater, a captain, a woodworker, a mechanic, or an engineer. There was just the love of the water, a desire to be a part of that culture, and an overconfidence that he could conquer the mysteries of boatbuilding, propulsion, navigation, and lastly, seamanship. Without the talents, expertise, and patience, from the small army of people who became friends, this boat would have never left the parking lot. It is an attempt to poke fun at myself, laugh a little, and celebrate the ones who helped me understand

How hard it could be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543450736

Paul F. Hill Jr.

The author was not a “Boater”, a Captain, a Wood worker, a Mechanic, or an Engineer. There was just the love of the water, a desire to be a part of that culture, and an over-confidence that he could conquer the mysteries of boat building, propulsion, navigation, and lastly seamanship.

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Copyright © 2017 by Paul F. Hill Jr.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2017914000

ISBN:                  Hardcover                     978-1-5434-5071-2

                             Softcover                       978-1-5434-5072-9

                             eBook                             978-1-5434-5073-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/19/2017

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Contents

Acknowledgment

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To properly set the stage for this misadventure, it is important to first gain an understanding of the author and how he fearlessly proceeded to get deeper and deeper into situations where he did not know all that he did not know.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

There are many, many people to thank for their expertise in the Boating World, their patience with my ignorance about woodworking, engines, navigation, marinas, basically anything about boats. That being said, without the Wise Ones I would still be on dry land in the parking lot in Connecticut, still trying to figure out what to do first. To my co-workers at Fink Jewelers, who implored me to put this story down on paper, I thank you for your support. The First editing was completed by my Mother-In-Law, Bernadette, putting all of her teaching skills to use, to make sense of what I wrote. To my Publishers, their persistence to have me stay on task, to complete the journey, in the most professional way, was invaluable. To Kelley, my wife, who completed all the tasks the Publishers requested, and had to re-live this miss-adventure over and over. Lastly, Authoress C. J. Ellison, during a chance meeting, took the time to hold my hand, and assure me that my story would happen. After all, How Hard Can It Be…

1

Born into a middle class family as the first son, I was awarded privileges that my older siblings were not. As a kid, I could travel farther on my bike leaving the neighborhood and meeting classmates for pick-up games of football, baseball, or hoops without much supervision.

As long as I was home in time for dinner, life was good. Self-confidence and resourcefulness were being instilled. My attentions were soon guided into organized sports, for my parents were trying to keep me busy and out of mischief. They placed me in every possible sporting activity available no matter the season.

I was enjoying a fair amount of success in each endeavor even when I was pushed-up to play with the older kids. Determined to be successful, not just competitive, I practiced and practiced. Drill after drill, hour after hour, the house reverberated to the sound of the basketball bouncing in the basement, the tennis ball skipping off the walls, and the bat hitting the duffel bag filled with towels.

I’m sure it drove my mother to tears. Every winter, in my mind, I was going to be the next Bobby Orr, even though I never really could skate. I would be teammates with Jim Lomborg and Carl Yastrzemski, and one day, come off the bench like George Blanda to save my beloved Boston Patriots.

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Living in New England, my family would summer at Cape Cod with relatives and my grandparents. Puppa was a retired fisherman. He and I became close friends during those summers. He made time for me, and I would listen to tales of his work. He taught me how to whittle and carve simple wooden boats from a block of wood.

Long after I was in bed, he would often correct my mistakes, and then tell others it was all my work. It is a skill I wish I still had, for many the pieces, with his help, turned out to be quite good.

Looking back, my fascination with boats began here. We never owned anything more than a small rowboat, but we would play in or around it all the time. We would swamp it, flip it, and swim inside to find the air pocket; then sink it and do it all over again, endlessly.

Out of all the children, I was the one selected to row Mom and Grandma around the lake after dinner. More than likely because they did not want to leave me on the shore unsupervised. However, I am now very thankful to my folks who placed me in situations where, with a little more effort, I would surely always succeed.

I passed through high school and college attaining even higher athletic successes. I summered on Cape Cod, played in the Cape League, if being a bench jockey constitutes playing, while also working in my family’s jewelry business.

In my opinion, Cape Cod in the summer, there was no finer place on earth for a college-age male to be. I would often stop when driving home from work and look out over the little coves and marinas. The sailboats sparkled in the sun or moonlight, waiting for their owners to take them out to play. I knew then…someday I would own a boat.

In 1973, I had a rude awakening when the Red Sox acquired Freddie Lynn for centerfield and I realized my services would not be needed. My football talents would not be required either because the Patriots had chosen Jim Plunkett to lead them to victory. (I humbly regret any inference to either Mr. Lynn or Mr. Plunkett in suggesting my talent was equal on any terms to theirs.)

That being said, up until then, I had played with the likes of Dale Berra, Billy Travers, Whitey Ford’s son, and Steve Lake, all wonderful athletes, and had held my own with