Apparently, It’s Impossible
To Own A Boat In America
My Dad tried earnestly three different times to give the state
of Mississippi money to register his boat. Each time, he was
foiled by an impenetrable bureaucracy.
You can’t do anything nowadays without some piece of paper from the government saying it’s okay. You can’t build a house, you can’t practice medicine or law, you can’t start a business, you can’t sell a car, you can’t teach school, and you can’t cut hair. You can’t drive a vehicle or fly a plane or run a farm. We think we own property in America. Stop paying your taxes and see who owns all your stuff. The Founding Fathers would weep over what we’ve done with the place. Amidst such an overwhelming regulatory milieu, all my dad wanted to do was go fishing.
The Players
My dad taught Sunday School, was the chairman of the deacons at the church, met every Friday with the Lions Club, and lived the example of a Godly Christian man of character. I always thought he was a pretty great guy. And then, I recently learned that he was actually a hardened criminal. It all started because he and his fishing buddy got too old.
My dad is in his eighties. He and a friend had a fishing lease on a beautiful private lake. Heading out when the weather was nice to drown crickets or snag a few bass brought them great satisfaction. Then, the lake’s owner informed them that he was unable to secure liability insurance because they were getting up in years.
Because, of course, you can’t just go fishing. In 21st-century America, to catch fish, you obviously need liability insurance. So, Dad gave his nice bass boat to his grandson and resigned himself to not fishing anymore. But he just couldn’t stand it.
At this point, my dad’s plan is to keep all of the paperwork documenting the three different times he sincerely attempted to register his boat and throw himself on the mercy of law enforcement.
The Crime
Four years ago, my dad bought another grandson a lovely little plastic boat. It set him back around $800. My nephew used it to fish in a little private lake near his house. Eventually, he went off to college, so Dad moved the boat back to his place. It never occurred to anybody to register this tiny boat with the government. It is made of plastic and was only used in the nearby pond.
It is a cool boat — not terribly heavy and delightfully stable. Dad figured he and his buddy would toss the boat in the back of his truck and see what the fishing was like at the big reservoir down the road. Ever one to mind the rules, he then inquired of the state concerning some kind of sticker you are supposed to put on your boat before floating it on public water. It turns out this is a really big deal. It’s a much bigger deal than he ever expected.
Dad bought the boat at the Memphis Bass Pro Shop across the state line in Tennessee. He didn’t do this so he could become some kind of nefarious boat criminal. They just had the best prices on boats. He never thought to register the boat in Mississippi. Now, four years later, these facts were about to make some public servants’ brains explode.
The third time, Dad included helpful photographs showing him actually
buying his boat. There had been some implication that perhaps he
had actually stolen it. I’m betting it was the
COVID mask.
Submit and Be Assimilated
So, Dad Googled, “How do I register a boat in Mississippi?” He downloaded a form, filled it out and mailed it to a government boat-registering office along with a check. Soon thereafter, he got the entire packet returned with a note explaining all the reasons why he could not actually register his boat. Dad called and didn’t get much satisfaction, so he just started the process anew.
The first time there had actually been some implication that perhaps my 85-year-old Southern Baptist father had stolen the boat. I will admit to not having a great deal of personal experience with people who steal boats. However, I would assume that your smarter boat thieves would probably not attempt to register their pilfered watercraft with the Mississippi boat-registering office. Regardless, for this second iteration Dad included a photocopy of the credit card statement showing that he had indeed bought the boat himself. A couple of weeks later, this packet also came back rejected.
In both cases, the checks Dad sent were returned uncashed. The boat-registering people explained that the photocopy of the credit card statement was inadequate. Apparently, faking credit card statements is just the sort of thing boat thieves do. He needed to submit the original receipt … for a boat he bought four years ago during the pandemic. If I kept the receipts for everything I bought, my entire house would be one giant cube of heat-sensitive receipt paper. Dad explained that he no longer had the physical receipt.
Willis Dabbs, the hardened criminal himself.
Desperation Sets In
By now, Dad was just itching to fish, so he tried a third time. This iteration, he included all the documentation he could scrounge, along with several photographs of him actually buying the boat. There was one of him wearing a COVID mask while looking at the boat at Bass Pro and another of a large smiling man helping him load it into the back of his pickup truck.
Perhaps the mask made him look sinister. This application was returned as well with an admonition that, before he could actually register his boat he would have to pay Mississippi sales tax on the original purchase from four years ago. Dad duly reported to the local tax collector’s office with a check for $56 — 7% of the boat’s original $800 purchase price. They looked at him like he had three heads, refused to accept his check, and sent him packing. At this point, Dad just gave up and resigned himself to his newfound life of crime.
He collated all the submissions, returned checks and rejection letters and put them in a big folder he now keeps in the glove box of his truck. He can’t keep anything else in his glove box anymore, because this stack of paper is now roughly the size of the U.S. Federal Tax Code. However, he figures if some boat cop gets sufficiently bored as to hassle a pair of octogenarians out jigging for crappie, he will just present his rucksack full of rejected boat-registering paper and throw himself on the mercy of the courts. My dad, the career criminal.
