When I think back to the Bumper Boat Debacle of 1984, I can see the trappings of an awkward moment: I was in middle school; there were unknown bystanders; and people were telling me, “It will be easy.” I was at a family reunion in Colorado resort when my cousins and I stumbled upon the ride, and they suggested we should give it a try. I felt a vague trepidation, but I also wanted to be a good sport, and so a few minutes later I was boarding one of the small, round boats.

As the attendant began explaining how to operate the things, I caught a glimpse of the Los Angeles Dodgers logo on his blue baseball cap and it triggered my strange, encyclopedic memory for baseball statistics. My mind wandered into a vast matrix of strikeouts, earned-run-averages… until I heard the clang of the starting bell.

Despite the straightforward branding of the bumper boat experience, I was startled when I was blindsided by my cousin Jeff. The collision scrambled my mind and sparked a fight-or-flight response. I locked my sights on my cousin’s boat, cranked the steering wheel and slammed my foot on the accelerator.

To my surprise, I never arrived at my target, but instead zoomed on a path of concentric circles. The small engine was surprisingly mighty. As my circles tightened, I felt the collective stare of the other kids intensify as they took notice of my unusual tactic. A panic flooded my mind and washed away common-sense solutions such as releasing the accelerator or straightening the steering wheel.

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