My dad, Rocky, was actually in there, though. In the storm, not the movie. In the fall of 1991, he was captaining Gesina, a Hinckley Sou'wester 48 Yawl from Bermuda to St. Martin when Hurricane Grace formed right on top of his head. A wave caught the yawl broadside and she capsized, cracking the rigging and scaring the flying shit out of everyone on board. If that jargon is all gibberish to you, let me rephrase: The boat flipped upside down.
Rocky had just finished his watch, and he later told me that he rolled to the ceiling of his bunk, lay there in shock for a moment, and then rolled back down again. Then he ran up on deck and started fixing stuff, because as captain, that was his job. He kept that boat afloat for another decade, and as far as I know, she's still floating.
There she is, not sinking.
He also spent a night as Elton John's bouncer, saw Bob Marley perform in Maui, fought a wild boar once and drove a Triumph Spitfire when he was first breaking into professional sailing. My point is, I know that a lot of kids think their dad is the coolest guy in the world, but when your father's name is Rocky Sargent and he's a professional yacht captain who grew up surfing, sailed around the world twice, and survived capsizing in a hurricane, you're kinda right. And at that point, it becomes sorta daunting. I have some friends who had really ambitious, authoritative fathers who insisted that they spent their weekends studying, or had visions of them going to medical school. They'd tell me about these concerns, and then qualify it with "You don't get it -- Rocky's so chill, you probably don't have to deal with any of that." And I didn't. But I had to deal with something weirder.
Have I mentioned I grew up on a sailboat yet? I never know how to work that in naturally.