'You can't just be a free spirit.'

Gertrude was the first one to say this to me. Over the years, many others told me the same thing. Each time, I resented it. I refused to accept it. Certainly, society could not completely snuff the flame of an independent spirit. Certainly, the brave and determined could still find a way in this world without sacrificing their dreams. The free spirit can live in this world and the next and I refuse to accept anyone's discouragement on the subject.

"No. I will. You'll see." That was also the first time I stood up to her. I was upset that she tried to dash my childhood dreams. But Gertrude had influence. She was, after all, everything the imagination could conjure. To the young boy, she was the double edged knife which is life - the balance between yes and no, right and wrong, smart and stupid, the sea and the land. For the sister, she was all the manifestations of fantasy; Santa Claus and Easter bunnies, a handmaiden for the princess, a silly notion with daddy teasing us all. To the wife, Gertrude could be nothing other than the threatening trollop. But to me, the young child, she was the voice of wisdom, the oracle of all things seen and unseen. Gertrude determined whether we moved or not. She was everything the imagination could conjure.

Down below, my father sweated over the giant diesel engine, the hot Bahamas sun baked the white deck as three children and wife waited to turn a key or push a button. Down below, with dad, Gertrude whispered to me once again, 'You can't just be a free spirit.'

"You just watch me." I moved away from the hatch and made my way to the bow of the boat, getting as far away from her and her sabotage as I could.

I still have my battles with Gertrude, but now we are both much better at the game.