Several years ago, I ran a summer kayak camp. After the camp finished, the counselors gathered to celebrate. As we watched a slideshow of photos—kids smiling, laughing, having fun—I noticed something: the biggest smiles came from kayaking. I felt proud.
During the party, Bill, a chaperone, came up to me and said, “Wayne, you really made a difference in a little girl’s life.”
I smiled. “With 625 kids over three weeks, I’m sure we made a difference.”
Bill continued, “No, you don’t understand… Do you remember Olivia?”
“Yes,” I replied. “You brought her back before I’d even launched the rest of the kids. She didn’t want to be on the water.” I remembered how Olivia had stayed behind, chatting with me as we waded together into the shallows.
When we reached waist-deep water, I looked at her and said seriously, “Sit on the bottom.” She tried and giggled as her life jacket kept her from sinking. Her fears started to melt away. Then she surprised me by asking if she could go back out—this time in a single kayak.
I was thrilled. A fourth grader overcoming fear? That alone felt like a victory.
Bill nodded. “Yes, she loved kayaking. But it’s what you told her that made the difference.”
I paused. Then the memory returned. While we were wading, I had shared a story with Olivia.
“I’m scared of heights,” I told her. “I get dizzy. Sometimes the fear takes over.”
I told her about the first time I went skydiving. I had trained all day, boarded the plane, and climbed to altitude. When the door opened and the cold air rushed in, I panicked.
“I can’t do this,” I told my instructor. “I’m not jumping.”
He looked at me calmly and said, “It’s your choice.”
I still remember the two voices in my head. One was loud, panicked, screaming: This is dangerous! You’re going to die! But the other was calm and steady: Wayne, you’ve wanted this for so long. If you don’t jump now, you may never do it.
I chose the quiet voice. And I jumped. It was my first of 120 jumps.
That’s the story I shared with Olivia.
Bill smiled again. “Wayne, you still don’t understand.”
“The next day, at Myakka River State Park, Olivia and her friend were getting off the bus. Her friend was scared—worried about snakes and alligators. And Olivia turned to her and said, ‘You know… there’s two voices.’”
Olivia, a 10-year-old who overcame her fear of kayaking, had taken that moment, turned it into a life lesson, and passed it on. I never would’ve known if Bill hadn’t told me.
With tears in my eyes, I think about the hundreds of kids who’ve learned kayaking with us. It reminds me that kayaking isn’t the only lesson.
We seldom know the difference we make as instructors, mentors, or even just fellow human beings. But moments like this remind us of the quiet power we all carry:
The power to change someone’s life with a kayak, a story, a connection, a little bit of time.
Or a quiet voice—heard when it’s needed most.
Thank you to Wayne Douchkoff for contributing “Olivia’s Story and Two Voices” to the ACA Story Project! Wayne’s story is an incredible reminder that paddling often teaches lessons far beyond the water — and that instructors, mentors, and everyday leaders can shape lives in ways they may never fully realize.
About the Author
Wayne Douchkoff is an ACA-certified instructor and adaptive paddling advocate based on the Suncoast of Southwest Florida. A lifelong learner and passionate naturalist, Wayne has led more than 600 trips and instructed over 1,000 paddlers. Wayne is also passionate about utilizing advanced communication and adaptive paddling techniques to make the outdoors more accessible. He is an instructor in the University of Florida Master Naturalist Program, and was recognized as the ACA Instructor of the Month in June 2021.
