SUMMER STORY -- More than a day at the beach

Young Chang

Excuse me, girl with the red umbrella and sad face.

Do you see the row of teens about two blocks out in the ocean? They’re

standing in a line waiting for the next huge wave so that pummeling into

chaos together will be memorable once the water’s too cold.

Closer to shore, a crab barely larger than a silver dollar runs amok

-- probably trying to escape the colossal waves but also our

inconsiderate feet.

A young boy rushes to and from the same shore with his singular

plastic cup in hopes that one day, his entire pod of sand will be wet

enough to build with.

And the sun beats down on the water with the vehemence of a wave.

I’m not sure why you’re so sad.

Hopefully, it’s just the preteen blues. Hopefully, you don’t have

justifiable reason for looking so pensive on this beautifully breezy day.

Maybe you’re just being moody.

Don’t you have memories of burying your loved ones in sand the way

Loni and Ty Begay are doing over there?

They’re taking turns. Ty, 9, can’t stop giggling while his sister

piles sand on his stomach and makes him look pregnant. Loni, 10, says

it’s warm lying paralyzed in this grainy cocoon.

Nearby, Matthew Olmedo molds something in the sand. Mud balls, he

says, soon to be a massive, round brownie.

Could you have packed a small picnic just to have something to munch?

Could you have brought a friend with whom to swap sunglasses and lip

balm like those two girls do way down there?

Girls who make adolescence look fun, who glimpse a former version of

these moms who drag their feet to the car while wearing five enormous

beach bags and holding a fist of trash. The child trails behind holding

his lone yellow bucket and looking down at the wavy ground. Mom keeps

looking back to make sure he’s there.

The water’s almost silver because the sun is on it. The waves are

celebrating. Everybody’s skipping and splashing.

Unreal, I know. And definitely not everyday. But don’t you at least

want to look?

Your umbrella is blocking the view.

You can’t see 1-year-old Kyle Hostetler, who probably doesn’t know

what a castle nor a shovel nor even sand is, but who attempts to imitate

his sister and make a sand castle with a shovel anyway.

In a one-piece denim baby outfit with an Old Navy cap placed

deliberately a bit crooked, Kyle shuffles atop the sand with shaky steps

trying to assemble something that is, at this point, amorphous.

He holds a tiny plastic yellow shovel and picks at the ground with it.

He hasn’t the coordination yet to grasp something tight and make it do

what he wants.

He stabs the sand a few times, frustrated probably.

And then his sister pours a huge pail of water on what was once his

building ground.

He looks at his messed-up land. Doesn’t cry, doesn’t throw his shovel,

just stares. Is he appalled? Thrilled? Who knows.

But he does what any smart, determined castle-builder would do.

He squats down on this newly drenched sand and shovels, or tries to.

Because the ocean may be huge, and he may be too young to know what an

ocean is, and he may not realize that you and your umbrella are doing the

opposite of what he’s attempting, but Kyle keeps shoveling.

The way the crab runs frenzied just to save his own life.

The way the boy doesn’t know or care that two cups can scoop the ocean

faster than one.

The way the teens jumping the waves understand that there is strength

in numbers.

Kyle just builds his castle.