My father was a sailor. He didn’t sail to make a living, he sailed because he loved the ocean. Peer grew up in Denmark during World War II, walking the streets along with Germans, tanks and the resistance. When he was in his late teens my grandmother bought him a sailboat. He would take it out in the bay near the Little Mermaid statue that celebrated Hans Christian Andersen’s short story of love and sacrifice. How fitting for a man like my father, rugged and tall, blonde wavy hair, a stark contrast to his tan weathered skin, his steel blue eyes watering from the cool sea air. He was a man who loved the ocean, its freedom and expanse. His life in some ways reflected the very ocean he loved, yet he would find the dark side of the sea in his own actions; He was doomed to feel the coldness and depth before seeing the danger.

Peer, like his father and generations of Danes before them, was an alcoholic. He didn’t know what brought him to this point, but the countless lost days spoke volumes to a man who took pride in living each day to it’s fullest. His family and job served only as a momentary lapse between warm wet circles lying on the bar. Friends were faceless strangers who were willing to listen to stories about the “Hav” for the price of a beer. Peer knew it was time to change his life, to get back to what he loved; His loving wife and children, his joy and future. He would go back to the ocean, for he knew the foam rising on the white caps and the salty sea air would breath life into his body, giving him the strength to change, to put aside the alcohol and get on with his existence.

He arrived at the dock just before the sun touched the water. A painted sky greeted him as he motored out past the breakwater. Pointing his boat towards the open sea, he unfurled his sails; snapping, they gathered the breeze, pulling him faster. The mist cooled his face and gathered in his beard, dripping onto his sun-dried lips. The taste brought memories rushing back to him; his father Torkild, his mother Marie, the first time he met his wife. He remembered her dark eyes, glancing across the room then meeting with his. They fell in love as he crossed the floor to meet her; fate, and a chance meeting brought their worlds together. For a moment a thought crossed his mind to turn back, to run to her and apologize for all the pain and sleepless nights, instead he pushed on to prove to himself he could change. The land became an afterglow as his boat raced through the water, cutting through growing swells. Speed was the key, go faster and push the limits of craft and man alike. The waves slapped against the bow with greater might, forcing him to hold on with more conviction. He was striving for perfection, for the purity in the waves, for absolution…

The knock on the door was soft; the small boy came into the room and hugged his crying mother. She took his hand in hers and kissed it gently, wiping away her tears. She didn’t know how to tell him, what do you say that makes sense to a 3 year old? How could she explain the demon that stole his father? Stroking his hair back she looked into his eyes. She saw Peer in him, he was strong and compassionate but weak in mind, still needing to grow. “My love”, she told him, “My love you are more precious than you could ever imagine”. The boy, feeling the pain in her voice, wrapped his small arms around her neck and whispered, “I love you mummy, you are my life”.

The boy grew up detesting the ocean; it never became a part of him like it had to his forefathers. He had broken the cycle and won, for himself... for his father.

-CAL-