Canary in a Coal Mine: Lessons from Lake Pleasant

It was such a long, difficult year, I felt like I was 36 forever.

I'm alone with my dad on his boat, stuffed inside my life jacket in the sweltering heat on Father's Day. His boat is actually a little daysailer he just bought to remind himself of his younger years sailing a real sailboat. I'm angry with my dad and only here on his stupid boat because it's Father's Day, and he wanted so badly to show off his new toy and have someone go with him. My mother refused, so here I am.

2009 has been a horrible year. The economy crashed, and I'm upside down on my house by at least $250K. I can't make my payments because sales have slowed. Every time I see my dad, he tells me in one way or another that if I had married an engineer, I wouldn't be broke.

He doesn't see how John and I are trying to weather this storm and hustle nearly every week with art shows, sales events, and recently getting into more than 14 galleries. He doesn't care that one of my closest friends' husbands is an engineer who lost his high-paying job six months ago, and his family is about to go onto food stamps.

I feel so fake trying my best to be nice and pleasant with my dad while he gleefully plays with his boat and all the gear. He even bought all the getup of gloves, special shoes, and a sailing hat.

It's always on his terms. He can say whatever he feels like, no matter how hurtful, and in just moments, pretend it never happened while expecting me to be jubilant and honored to be a guest on his little boat to tool around the lake in the middle of a desert. He doesn't even notice that I'm only humoring him or that beneath the veneer of my fake pleasant smile, I'm seething with anger and hurt.

Why can't he see that art is my destiny? Haven't I proven myself? Doesn't he see that this momentary slump is not my fault and everyone is suffering right now?

But he CAN'T see. There's too much self-hatred, insecurity, and pain in his own life to see the pain in another.

Coal Mine Collapse

He instructs me on "coming about" and how I have to switch sides to balance the boat as the sail flips to the other side. We zip across the water of what is ironically called Lake Pleasant, zigging and zagging, awkwardly switching sides as he turns the boat.

I can tell my dad is in his element and imagines himself as a supreme sailor preparing for the World Cup, yelling, "Coming about!" every time he turns the boat like I can't figure out that I need to move three feet to the other side every time he starts to turn.

"Hey, Dad, are you worried about those black storm clouds heading toward us?" I'm hoping he says we need to turn back, and it will be an early day.

"No. They will miss us. The wind is heading north, so we will be fine." So, we continue to sail farther away from the safety of the boat dock. My hopes shatter as my dad's smug overconfidence triggers my memory of a recent conversation:

"You know, Elli, you artists are nothing but a canary in the coal mine for the rest of us," he says with a creepy smirk.

"Huh? What is THAT supposed to mean?" I ask.

"When a coal mine collapses, and they want to see if it is safe for the miners to return, they send in a canary. If it flies back to them, they know they are safe, but if it doesn't return, then they know it died, and the mine isn't safe yet." I’m bewildered but also disgusted because I can tell my dad is somehow insulting me.

He sighs as if I'm too stupid to understand his metaphor. "Elli, the economy collapsed like the coal mine. We will know how bad it is when you artists don't survive." Then, he finishes off his explanation with his crooked smile that says, "and this is why you should have married an engineer."

But I'm not a canary in a coal mine. I'm a prophet charged with shifting culture.

We artists are leading the world into a new day filled with peace, prosperity, and liberty. We are creating a world on our canvas that is impervious to collapse. My dad doesn't realize his role as an engineer is the result of the artists who have gone before him.

I believe this, but why do his words still sting? Why do I watch him in disgust as he jumps around his boat, wishing I was somewhere else?

No More Smooth Sailing

It feels like we are sailing directly into the storm. Now, there is lightning, and thunder is ripping through the desert, threatening us with wind and rain.

"Dad, please, I don't like this. It's time to go back."

"Ok, yes, let's turn around. But it will be fine because the wind will be at our back, and we will fly back to the dock."

This worries me. My dad is rusty and hasn't sailed since several years and 30 pounds ago.

The moment we turn, the little boat takes off like a jet and begins lifting. I manage to get to the other side, but my dad doesn't.

"Dad! You better come on this side! We're lifting!"

But he isn't fast enough, and we nearly flip in a gust of wind. I cling to the side of the boat handles, literally sitting on the side of the boat, staring at my dad, who is pinned back. He is also hanging on to the handles with white knuckles, getting submerged underwater as we bounce through Lake Pleasant.

I can't believe what I'm seeing. I scream, "DAD! DAD!"

He looks utterly helpless and powerless. He gets moments of air while choking as he comes up out of the water for a second and then goes back under. I think about trying to reach and pull him, but I'm balancing on the side of the boat. We are moments from tipping completely over, and he would be wedged under the boat with all his ropes.

Finally, he lets go of the rope that held the sail, and we come crashing down. We both collapse inside the tiny boat as the sail and ropes flap in the wind. My dad wipes the water from his face and tries to catch his breath as he slowly gets back up on the bench.

Then, for the first time in my life, I look at my big, macho dad—a man whose main goal in life has been to be seen as the strongest, smartest, most successful, most important—and see only a small, scared boy.

He's silent. Something is going on under the surface. He looks stunned, like he's lost himself and found himself all at once.

And then he looks at me—really looks at me, for a long time—and softly speaks words I've rarely ever heard:

"I'm sorry."

Drenched in Defeat

The rain pours down on us as we spin slowly in circles in the middle of the lake. We don't speak. I've never seen my macho dad this weak.

I watch my dad meekly pull down the sail as his wet legs shake. I can tell he feels humiliated, and it's difficult for him. He can't yell and rage his way out of this one, considering what just happened. He's boxed himself inside a private room of forced humility. In defeat, he pulls the cord to start the motor and sits quietly, looking into the distance as he safely brings us back to the dock.

We work in silence as we roll up ropes in the rain and get the boat ready to be transported back home. The car ride is quiet. It's not yet time to laugh about what just happened. My dad is still mourning his loss and humiliation.

I can't chase the images of my dad helplessly submerged underwater without the strength to get himself up. The scary ogre who yells and says things that break me in two has drowned in the depths of Lake Pleasant. My dad came out of the water soft, broken, remorseful.

I can see that he was a fool, arrogant and overconfident, and didn't know what he was doing. He didn't understand the basics of sailing on the lake. His hubris made him blind to the orange buoys with warning flags telling even a novice boatsman not to go in. He never noticed we were the only boat out there under the dark clouds. He disregarded his foundational role as a father this Father's Day, neglecting to protect me.

Breaking Out of the Boat

My dad is flawed, and although I'm only 36, I finally realize I may know better than him at times. Certainly, when it comes to my destiny, who I married, and what I am doing with my life, my wisdom far surpasses his.

I can now see that I have a vision for what he can't see. I possess faith in myself and John, and I believe in who we are as parents to our children far beyond what he is capable of. He is, in fact, clueless. He can't read the signs and flags in my life or know when there are storms to endure or clear skies to soar to new heights. He is utterly blind to my destiny.

He only knows what exists inside his small boat of working a 9-to-5 in a "safe and secure" job so he can buy a little toy to bring out on the weekends. He doesn't know what it's like to live with a calling, to endure the obstacles or the fearful gusts of wind that cause us to cling to God who called us.

That Father's Day, I grew up. I was no longer the little girl needing her daddy's approval. I saw that he is himself lost and in need of guidance. I am now an adult woman. I know my destiny, and his insults no longer sting. I am the canary who came out of the coal mine of my father's words, clean and free.

Each one of us has a nemesis in our life. This person may even love us and want what is best for us, but their words and advice work against our destiny.

I am grateful for my dad. He has both been at my side and, at times, straight against me as I run. But every difficulty I faced in our relationship made me stronger and more grounded in God, who leads me to my destiny and gives me grace to forgive.

What storms have you navigated in your personal or professional life that have reshaped who you are today?

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