My sister was talented in so many ways. She could draw and I couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler. She could also skip rocks across the lake. Every time that I tried, they sunk. I was certain that my rocks had tiny anchors attached to them.
My grandparents lived out in the country some 60 miles from where my parents, my sister and I lived. To get to their home you had to drive down a tree lined lane. There was a lake at the bottom of the hill with a boat dock and benches. I never could quite understand how my grandmother could be in the kitchen and hear a car turn off the main road and approach the house through all those trees.
We would go and collect rocks from around the lake or would bring them from the city. I thought I had chosen good ones. However, I was soon going to find out that I hadn't.
Arriving at our grandparents, we didn't even take the time to say "hello" or get a hug from grandma. We went scampering off to the lake with mom shouting after us, "Don't get too close to the edge." My sister pulled her rocks out from her pocket and laid them out neatly on the dock bench. I laid mine out on the other side of the dock on the other bench. She went first. Tossing her rock at the water it skipped across as if it were gliding and on a mission. I picked up one of mine and tossed it at the water. Not even a skip for it sank on the spot. My sister continued without any effort at all, skipping one after the other across the water. I, on the other hand, decided after three tries, that I was never going to win the stone skipping contest and left for the house with tears in my eyes. As I was heading up the hill to the house, my sister shouted after me, "It's really easy. Watch, I'll throw one of yours." I turned in time to watch the rock that she had chosen from mine, skipping across the lake.
Recently, three of my friends were telling me the art of rock skipping. They concurred that it is all in the flick of the wrist and that the rock had to be flat. Who would have known?
©Karen A J Rinehart
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