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.
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