Iyad Rows to Duck Island With Uncle Faisal

In the middle of the lake near Uncle Faisal's cabin, there was a little island. It was round and green, with three tall pine trees and a strip of pale sand. Uncle Faisal called it Duck Island, because every spring the wild ducks made their nests there.

Every summer, Iyad looked at Duck Island from the dock. And every summer he asked the same question.

"Can we go to the island?"

And every summer, Uncle Faisal gave the same answer. "When you are big enough to help row."

This summer, Iyad was seven. He had grown so much that his old sandals did not fit. On the very first morning, he ran down to the dock in his orange life jacket, buckled up tight.

"Uncle Faisal! I am big enough now!"

Uncle Faisal looked at him over his cup of coffee. Then he looked at the little wooden rowboat tied to the dock. It was painted blue, with a white stripe and the name Sparrow written on the side.

"I think you might be," he said, smiling.

They packed a basket with cheese sandwiches, cucumbers, a bottle of water, and a bag of oats for the ducks. Uncle Faisal climbed into the boat first and held it steady. Iyad climbed in after him. The boat wobbled, and Iyad grabbed the side.

"Sit in the middle," said Uncle Faisal. "Keep your weight low. There. Now it's calm."

Uncle Faisal untied the rope. He pushed off from the dock with one oar, and the Sparrow drifted out onto the water.

The lake was smooth and shiny, like a big blue plate. The air smelled of pine needles and sunshine. Little silver fish darted away under the boat.

"Can I row now?" asked Iyad. "By myself?"

Uncle Faisal handed him the oars. They were long and heavy, and the wooden handles were smooth from many summers of rowing.

Iyad gripped them tight. He pushed the oars into the water and pulled as hard as he could. Splash! The boat lurched. He pulled again. Splash! Splash! Water sprayed up and sprinkled Uncle Faisal's hat.

The boat did not go toward Duck Island. It turned to the left. Iyad pulled harder with his right arm, and the boat turned to the right. Then it turned to the left again. Soon the Sparrow was going around and around in a slow circle, right in the middle of the lake.

"It is not working!" cried Iyad. His arms felt like noodles. His cheeks were hot. "The boat doesn't want to go to the island!"

Uncle Faisal laughed, but it was a kind laugh. "The boat wants to go," he said. "But the oars need to work together, like two feet walking. If one foot takes a big step and the other takes a small step, you go in a circle."

He moved over so that he was sitting right beside Iyad on the bench. He took one oar, and gave Iyad the other.

"Now we will row together," said Uncle Faisal. "And we will use a rowing song. Ready? Dip."

They dipped their oars into the water at the same time.

"Pull."

They pulled back together. The boat slid forward.

"Lift."

They lifted the oars out of the water. Drops fell from them like sparkling beads.

"Dip. Pull. Lift. Dip. Pull. Lift."

Iyad said it too. "Dip. Pull. Lift." At first he was too fast. Then he was too slow. But Uncle Faisal never hurried, and he never got cross. He just kept saying the words in his deep, calm voice, until Iyad's arms started to move with his.

Dip. Pull. Lift. Dip. Pull. Lift.

The Sparrow stopped turning. It began to glide straight across the lake, smooth as a swan. Iyad looked over his shoulder. The three pine trees were getting bigger.

"We are doing it!" he shouted.

"We are doing it," said Uncle Faisal.

With a soft crunch, the front of the boat slid onto the sandy beach of Duck Island. Uncle Faisal jumped out into the shallow water and pulled the boat up. Iyad climbed out after him. The sand was warm under his feet.

They had arrived.

Duck Island was even better up close. There were smooth white stones and pinecones as big as Iyad's hand. There were purple flowers growing in the grass. And there, near the water, was a mother duck with brown speckled feathers, and behind her, in a wobbly line, came six fluffy yellow ducklings.

"Shhh," whispered Uncle Faisal. "Sit very still."

They sat down on a log. Iyad held his breath. The mother duck looked at them with one bright eye. Then she quacked softly and kept walking, and the ducklings followed her, peep, peep, peep, into the water.

But the last duckling was smaller than the others. When it reached the edge of the lake, it stopped. The water was moving in little waves, and the duckling did not want to go in. It peeped and peeped.

The mother duck turned around. She swam back to the edge. She did not push the little duckling. She did not quack loudly. She just waited, calm and patient, and made a soft little sound. Quack. Quack. Quack.

The duckling took one step. Then another. Then, with a tiny plop, it was floating. It paddled its little orange feet, and soon it was swimming right beside its mother.

Iyad let out his breath. "She waited for him," he whispered. "Just like you waited for me."

Uncle Faisal smiled and put his arm around Iyad's shoulders.

They ate their cheese sandwiches on the log, with the sun warming their backs. They scattered oats on the sand, and the duck family came back to nibble them. Iyad collected three white stones and one big pinecone to take home.

When the sun began to sink lower, it was time to go back. Iyad climbed into the Sparrow and sat in the middle of the bench.

"May I try again?" he asked. "With the rowing song?"

"Of course," said Uncle Faisal.

They rowed together, side by side. Dip. Pull. Lift. Dip. Pull. Lift. The boat glided across the golden water toward the cabin, where Auntie Nisreen was waving from the dock.

Behind them, on Duck Island, six little ducklings were tucked under their mother's wings.

And Iyad's arms did not feel like noodles at all.