Captain of the Puddle
Old Sam fancied himself a sailor. Never mind that he lived in Nebraska, miles from any real ocean. He had a little sailboat—barely big enough for two people and a picnic basket—that he would drag down to the local lake every Saturday morning.
As soon as the sail caught the breeze, Sam transformed. He’d throw on his captain’s hat, squint at the horizon, and bark orders to his imaginary crew:
“Hoist the mainsail! Steady as she goes! Watch out for pirates off the starboard bow!”
The lake was a quarter mile across, but to Sam, it stretched wider than the Pacific. Fishermen in their johnboats became Japanese destroyers. The geese were “enemy dive-bombers.” When a speedboat zipped by, Sam would shout, “We’re under attack! Brace for impact!” and rock his boat violently to simulate cannon fire.
It took him twenty minutes to tack from one side of the lake to the other, but when he landed on the opposite shore, he’d throw down an anchor the size of a salad bowl and declare, “We’ve reached Tahiti, lads! Time to replenish supplies and seek out friendly natives!”
The locals mostly shook their heads and chuckled. Kids followed him around like he was some kind of cartoon. One day, a boy asked, “Mister, why don’t you take your boat to the ocean?” Sam looked at him gravely and said, “Son, I am on the ocean. The Pacific starts wherever a sailor believes it does.”
And with that, Captain Sam shoved off again, charting another daring expedition across Maplewood Lake—fearless explorer of the Seven Puddles.
