The Sun, Sand, and Sea
A couple of weekends ago, my friend treated me to a paddleboard yoga class. I had never gone paddleboarding before, but I knew the longing I felt every time I drove past a marsh. When I’m out on the water, I take my hearing aids out so as not to get them wet and damage them. I told my friend “You’ll need to be my ears.” And then we pushed off, starting on our knees, careful not to get caught in the reeds, then slowly, standing, pushing against the water with our paddles. Holding steady when a boat would go by, making waves.
And suddenly a memory flashed. It was me as a child, working the rudder on my dad’s sailboat. Sneaking through sand dunes with my friends, throwing horseshoe crabs back into the water. Smelling the low tide in the halls of my high school on the east end of Long Island. I began to smile, and then weep. I felt a mixture of gratitude for my childhood, all those lazy summer afternoons spent soaking up the sun, strolling on the sand, and swimming in the sea. And regret as I realized that I hadn’t done enough of this with my boys. So last week, I took them paddleboarding.
As we were about to leave the house, it started raining. The paddleboard place is a half hour away, so I called to ask if they were open. “We’re not sure what the storm’s gonna do,” the guy on the phone said. “I can’t tell you for sure you’ll get to go.” I asked the boys “What do you want to do?” “I want to go; I really wanna do this,” my eleven year old said. “Yeah!” my five year old echoed. Then my eleven year old added “The storm will blow over mom. They always do.” So we went. When we got there, the guy asked if we had called earlier. I told him that we had. He checked the radar and said “Okay, if you’re okay with it, it looks like it’s blowing over.” “We’re okay with it!” my eleven year old shouted. I smiled and nodded my agreement.
I put my hearing aids away and asked the boys to be my ears. We got their life jackets on and set out together, with me in the middle, my five year old in front, and my oldest behind me. I started on my knees, then stood, slowly at first, and then steadily. We started to pick up speed as I dug the paddle into the water. “I feel like we’re intrepid explorers!” my eleven year old shouted. “Yeah!” his brother shouted.
As we rounded into the no wake zone, the eleven year old wanted to give it a go, so I handed over the paddle. He had a knack for it. We ran aground on an oyster bed, and he had to jump out. He had kept his crocs on, which came in handy, as my five year old and I were barefoot and didn't want to cut our feet on the shells. He pushed us out of the bed, and we were on our way again. We stopped at a little island, pulled the board onto the shore, and walked around. As I watched their footprints appearing in the sand, I realized what a metaphor this was for where we are. We are finding our way into this new territory, this new life we’re building.
We got back on the board and paddled back to the mainland. I stood up to paddle, steady this time, and picked up speed, the board slapping the waves. “Whoa! We’re going fast!” my five year old exclaimed. When we came out of the no wake zone, the sun shone on us as the clouds moved on. It was a beautiful summer afternoon.
When we got off the board, I saw the giant kayaks positioned on either side of the dock. They were so colorful, forming an arc over the dock, and I could see it would make a great picture. “Hey boys, stand in the middle, let me get a picture.” Then, a woman behind me, who was with her boys, asked “Do you want to be in it?” “Yes please!” I said. To which she replied “Moms always take the pictures. We don’t often get to be in them.” I smiled knowingly and offered to take one of her.
Then my five year old wanted to go swimming at this calm spot close by. So we did, soaking in the sun, the sand, and the sea. There was a sudden drop off there, so I positioned myself just before it, ready to grab my five year old if he got too close to the edge. “See Mom,” my eleven year old said. “The sun came out.” “Yes,” I said. “It always does.” When we got home, the boys jumped in hot showers and baths to wash off the salt and sand. I took one too. I thought about those long, lazy summer days I cherished as a child. And I was glad that I could give them a taste of that. A core memory, now extended out of the depths of my subconscious, to be shared at the surface of the water. With the loves of my life.
