Holiday with Mr. Hunter

Maybe it's a little creepy, going out into the middle of a huge reservoir in a tiny motorboat with your brother-in-law and the guy who tried to hammer algebra into your head in high school.

But there I was. Sitting in the covered nose of a rattly little motorboat, squeezed into a life jacket, watching my daughter alternately express joy at being out on a boat for the first time and a little concern every time we hit a bump.

The bumps and the waves didn't worry me. I was more concerned that Mr. "Plug It In and Turn the Crank" Hunter would suddenly stop the boat in the middle of Palisades Reservoir somewhere and refuse to take us back to shore until I solved a few problems and graphed the results. Correctly. In ink.

As it is, as he welcomed us aboard, I told him I remembered taking his class. Of course, I wasn't a standout -- which is a relief to math dullards everywhere; your average teacher is not going to remember you. He did ask if I remembered any of the math he taught me, and I had to confess that since I didn't really learn it well the first time -- I got Cs in math all through high school -- he couldn't really beheld responsible if I didn't remember it now.

Fortunately, he took me at my word, though the thought of s pop quiz --multiplying fractions! -- put me into a cold sweat.

It was fun going out on the boat. I haven't been out on a boat on Palisades in years -- not since I was a Boy Scout and was among the group trying to water-ski with an underpowered boat. Since they didn't want dead weight in the boat, but didn't want to have to go back to shore every time they wanted a new skiier, they dumped us off at some kind of floating platform waaaaaay out in the middle of the lake where we could bob and such until it was our turn. I took one turn, skiied on my nose for a while, then decided waterskiing wasn't my thing. Not that they minded -- gave them that much smaller of a rotation waiting for their turns.