The Boy and the Great White Shark

By Rich Cole

When Danny Harrison lost his mother he went to live with his estranged father, Peter. Neither of them getting along Danny spent months at a boarding school until his father decided it was time to fix their relationship. With the help of Peter's friend Gabriel Shaw a deep-sea fishing trip is arranged.

Danny and Peter set out in an attempt to bond over a simple father and son fishing trip. The events of the trip and the strength of their new bond is more than either could have dreamed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223632917

Book preview

"Dedicated to Steven Spielberg,

who made me look at the sea

in a completely different way."

Dramatis Personae

Danny Harrison – a 13-year-old boy

Peter Harrison – Danny’s estranged Father

Captain Shaw – yacht captain, stern but fair

Mr. Riley (Jack) – seaman, ship’s cook, very friendly

1 – Danny

I sit in my cabin and pull out my journal. Keeping a record of this trip is worse than the trip itself. I click the back of my pen. The point comes out. I touch the pen to the paper.

"How did I even get here? A bonding trip, with my dad, what a joke.  He and mom split up five years ago. He didn’t want me then, and I get the idea he doesn’t want me now. Mom died six months ago. How did she even get cancer? She didn’t smoke. I had to go live with my dad. That lasted about a week. I’ve spent the last five months in some snobby boarding school. Now, we’re out on dad’s yacht. We’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean somewhere. There are the captain and one crew member on the boat. Neither of them bothers with me. When they do talk to me dad or the Skipper snap at them. Dad’s always on the, what do they call it, the bridge. I don’t even get to see him. A small ship and he still finds ways to send me away."

A tear hits the page. I shove the journal away with both hands. I wipe my eye with my sleeve. It’s the sleeve of my school blazer. I haven’t even had time to change from my school uniform. The car picked me up and brought me right here. I was so tired when I came aboard that I just crashed on the bed without changing. I haven’t even looked inside my suitcase to see the clothes they packed.

I open my suitcase. What a shock, a kid-sized sailor suit. I throw it on the bed. Another sailor suit; I throw it on top of the first. Old man socks. A new pack of tighty whiteys; couldn’t they have gotten me boxers? A pack of old man socks, black and thin. Pajamas. Slacks and button-up shirts. Shorts and short-sleeved shirts. No jeans, no t-shirts, nothing that looks comfortable.

I change into a pair of slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. They don’t fit well. The pants are too loose and the shirt is too tight. I guess I better go see my dad.

I walk out of my room and up to the top of the yacht. Dad is standing at the front, looking out into the ocean.

Danny, welcome to the deck, he exclaims. Come, stand with me and see the majesty of the ocean.

"Dad, will we be able to stop anywhere?’ I ask.

Why? he asks.

My new clothes don’t fit. The pants are a couple of sizes too big, and the shirts are really tight.

I’m sorry to hear that, he says. I got your size from the school uniform shop.

You called the uniform shop? I ask.

Well, my secretary did, he replies.

Something got written down wrong, I say.

Quit whining, he barks. We’re out here to have a good time and get to know each other as father and son. All I know so far is that you complain too much and sending you to boarding school was the right decision.

I run. I run back to my room and slam the door. I’m trapped. Trapped on his yacht. The first thing he does is yell at me. He yelled at me for asking if I could have clothes that fit. Is having a kid really so hard for him?

There’s a knock at the door.

Who is it, I ask, wiping under my eyes.

It’s dad, Danny. May I come in?

I get up and walk to the door. I open it slowly. Hi, dad.

Danny, I think we should talk.

Talk about what?

About my reaction up on the deck,

The deck, we aren’t home. What happened?

He chuckles. No, Danny, not the deck of the house. The deck of the ship; it’s what we call the top layer where we can walk.

Oh, I say sheepishly.

This is your first time on a boat, isn’t it? he asks.

Probably. Mom wasn’t a boater, and I’ve lived with her for a long time.

She was always better with you than I was, he admits. I’m not accustomed to children, Danny. I don’t know how to talk to them. I don’t know what to do. It started the day you were born. You were this small, fragile, loud little glob of meat. There was nothing to do with you though. You just laid there, like a houseplant.

What? I yell. You’re comparing me to a houseplant?

Baby you. Babies in general probably. Your mother fed you. I held you, I tried to change you. We couldn’t do anything. It was like having a fish; you put in food and clean the tank, but the fish is just there to be stared at.

Now I’m a fish? I ask.

I’m trying! he snaps. I took some time to read up on kids while you were away. The book said to share a common interest. I’m sharing my interest in sailing the seas with you.

A common interest means on you both like, I say.

Don’t correct me like that, he barks. I’m your father, not some little public school friend. I thought boarding school would have addressed the issues with your attitude.

Boarding school makes bonding so simple, doesn’t it? I ask.

Lose the attitude, he barks. That’s one of the best schools in the country. Their graduates have the highest college and university acceptance rates of any prep school, and they far surpass any public school.

I’m thirteen years old, I say. I’m not thinking about college. I don’t know what I want to do with my life after school.

You’ve got a few years to figure it out, dad says. Decide soon though, you’ll want to work toward a firm understanding of the base concepts while in high school. That will be your best preparation. The professors at your current school will reach out to you; the professors at the universities will expect you to reach out to them.

Isn’t it still a little early for all that? I ask. I lost my mom, I lost my home, now I’m losing my friends and my school, and all you can talk about is shipping me off to a good college?

I’m looking out for your future and your best interests, he replies. Teenage friendships are fleeting. Middle school is a forgotten memory once you’re older. There may be a few moments to look back on fondly, but the skills and knowledge you develop, those are what shape your future. Connections from a public grade school don’t get you a good job. Your connections from a high-end university; they’re where success can come from.

I came to see you about clothes that don’t fit, and now you’re mapping out my whole future?

I’ve been mapping out your future since the day I saw the first positive pregnancy test, he replies. Your education savings are well funded. You can go anywhere, study anything, and graduate capable of being whatever you want to be.

I laugh. You have a twenty-year plan for me, but not a twenty-minute plan.

He stands still as a statue. Check the other clothing. See if anything else fits you better. There’s laundry on the boat. We’ll keep whatever does fit you clean. We’ll set into a port somewhere when we can. Until then, you’ll have to wear what’s here.

I will, dad. Do you know how long before we reach somewhere to find a store?

Probably a couple of days, he answers. You were so tired when you arrived; you slept for almost twelve hours in that school uniform. We’re a good distance from any port right now.

He turns and heads through the door. He stops halfway out. I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.

The bridge? There’s something you need a bridge for on this boat?

The bridge is what we call the control room, he explains. Come up when you’ve dressed in something that fits. I’ll teach you the other nautical terms. That can be the first step.

Thanks, I’d like that, I say.

He walks out and closes the door. I lay out the clothes. I try all the shirts, only one fits. I put it on. I try the slacks and shorts. The shorts fit, none of the slacks do. I look ridiculous; I’m wearing long sleeves with shorts. I try the sailor suits, they don’t fit. At least there’s a silver lining; I don’t have to wear these.

I look stupid, but I don’t have much choice. I decide to save my school uniform for when we go into a town wherever we happen to land. I’ll look formal, but at least I won’t feel stupid wearing it.

2 – Peter

As I leave my son’s cabin I’m not certain how I feel about this trip. He’s dripping with more attitude than even the most reluctant conscript. I need to remember that he’s my thirteen-year-old son and not some eighteen-year-old man whose been drafted into the navy.

I could have handled that better, I mutter to myself. What was that comparison of my infant son to a common houseplant? And telling him I’ve planned for college, why did I bring that up?

I climb the ladder up to the deck. I look out over the port side. The blue water calms me. It’s a familiar sight for an old sailor. I stand for a minute then ascend the other ladder. I step onto the bridge.

Well, Gabriel, I think he’s settling into his cabin, I say.

My friend, Captain Gabriel Shaw, looks at me. Hopefully this trip works out.

It should work, says Shaw’s employee and only crew member, Jack Riley.

Mr. Riley, Shaw says, you’re here for two reasons, to function as the ship’s crew, and to be a bridge between Peter and young Danny.

A bridge? Riley asks.

A conduit, a connection, an intermediary, I define. You’re younger than we are, you’re more outgoing and friendly. We’re hoping you can act the part of the friendly adult who can help Danny and I find our common ground. I’ve been out of his life for years. I have a lot of damage control ahead of me.

What is your plan? Riley asks.

I managed to have a subordinate fetch him some clothing, I say. We have fishing equipment on the starboard side on the aft deck. Captain Shaw will pilot the boat, you and I will join Danny fishing.

If I may ask, Riley says, Why include me? Why not have it be a father and son activity?

I had given that adequate thought, I reply. After much deliberation, I decided that it would be preferable to have a third person on-site to assist in removing the tension of a two-person excursion.

That’s your job, Shaw adds. You’re there to create distractions and diversions if Peter has difficulty relating to Danny. After you’ve spent time with them, your observations are to be reported to Peter so he can adjust his tactics.

My first observation doesn’t require me to even meet Danny, Riley says. Don’t think of relating to your son as a tactical excursion. This is not a wartime engagement; this is getting to know your child. Talk to him. Discover his interests. Find interests you have in common. Build a relationship using your commonalities as the building blocks.

Duly noted, I say. I need to think of him less like breaking in a new recruit and less like a mission. Being a parent is not a navy exercise, it’s something completely different.

I’m sure some skills are transferrable, Shaw says. You have extensive command training. Your skillset does include diplomacy and negotiation...

"Don’t think of it