Breakthrough Read Free

she had woken up hungry from surgery, so why not?
    It didn’t take long for Mom to begin implementing her core parenting philosophy that kids should be signed up for every activity under the sun, then be allowed to choose what they like.
    â€œLife is all about finding your passion, Jack,” my mom was fond of saying. It led to a lot of experiences—and failures.
    It began when my parents bought a piano for Luke and paid a conservatory-trained Russian lady to come to our house and give him lessons. I decided to give it a try. To my delight, it appeared to be the one thing my perfect sibling couldn’t master, and the more he hated the piano, the more I liked it. The thing I liked best was the thought of beating my brother at something. The moment Luke announced he was quitting piano, I stepped right up and volunteered to take his place.
    At first I loved it. I practiced all the time—although never enough for the conservatory-trained Russian lady—but more than enough to get polite applause from the room full of proud parents at recitals. After a while, though, I realized that since I had proven I was better than my older brother at something , much of the excitement I had felt over playing started to fade.
    Next, my mom thought it was time to sign me up for sports, which quickly proved to be an epically bad idea. Baseball ended when it became clear that I was far more interested in daydreaming and making daisy chains off in right field than hitting or catching theball. Tennis, which my mother affectionately referred to as a “lifetime sport,” was even worse. It was scorching hot, and all the other kids had already had years of lessons and were much better. The ground was made of sand or hard dirt, so there weren’t even any daisies to make chains with. If the goal was getting my face smashed by the tennis balls, then I would have been closing in on winning Wimbledon by now. Lacrosse, which was also my mother’s idea, was almost as bad as tennis. My mother figured lacrosse would be a good choice, mostly because I could use Luke’s old equipment. I spent most of lacrosse camp scarring my coaches by singing off-key into my lacrosse stick and trying to avoid getting knocked down.

    Learning how to kayak on the Nantahala River
    The only sports I seemed to like were kayaking and white-water rafting. I had always been fascinated by the water. My parents had met on the river, so perhaps it was simply in my blood. On the weekends, my family often went to Pennsylvania or West Virginia,where my parents dropped us off so they could kayak the Cheat, Youghiogheny, or Gauley rivers. After they finished, they picked us up to raft a calmer section.
    For me, kayaking was a rush. My favorite spot, the Cheat Canyon, has over two dozen rapids rated at least Class III and even some Class IV and Class V rapids, which are for real experts only. My parents guided me down the easier spots. I felt like an action figure in my bright orange kayak, navigating nature’s obstacle course. The river was its own living, breathing organism, with plenty of mood swings. Sometimes, it seemed smooth and calm, and then suddenly the water would pick me up and toss me like a leaf and I would go spinning in a new direction. I stared intently downriver, examining the rapids and trying to find the best path downstream.
    Sometimes when the water was too high, I walked along the banks with my dog, Casey, a golden retriever, and threw rocks and sticks in the river. I loved building miniature dams and rapids out of the river rocks. I pretended that small twigs were family members and released them down the “rapids,” narrating the results, to my parents’ horror.
    â€œThere goes Mom over a treacherous waterfall!” I said.
    â€œWhat about Dad?” she asked.
    â€œOh, Dad is safe. He made an eddy by the rock and he is going to run the Class V rapid,” I answered.
    Years later, my mom still holds a