Making waves
It’s been 6 years but I, a boy from the Midlands, am still not used to living near the sea. My kids are right at home at the beach and from my eldest’s first steps, all he wanted to do was run straight at the sea as if to embrace it. I would “rescue” him as he splashed through the shallows, swishing him high into the air. We would laugh as we turned around and around on the wet sand, only for him to run giggling at the crashing waves again at the first opportunity. Looking back, I am not sure if this was a game or whether I truly was rescuing him from his fearless desire for the sea. Now, he swims like a fish so there is no need to halt his downhill careen into the water, but my desire to rescue him is still there. Only now it is not the sea, but into a pool of negative self-reflection that he runs. I stand there, arms outstretched to catch him, but he just slips past me and runs straight into the waves which crash over him. Later, when he emerges raging, frustrated, and sad all I can do is offer him a comforting towel, which he may, or may not, take.