Away

Spring and summer have rolled into one gigantic boulder (think “Raiders Of the Lost Ark”) smashing almost every family adventure planned in the dark and cold of winter.

I’m disappointed.

The Ark Encounter in Kentucky. The Louisville Slugger factory. Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Churchill Downs.

Washington. U.S. Capital. The White House and the Pentagon. Mount Vernon. The Smithsonian. National Cathedral.

Chicago. Navy Pier. Millennium Park. Art Institute Of Chicago.

Williamsburg. Jamestown. Monticello.

Back home… The NASCAR Museum. The Downton Abbey exhibition at Biltmore. The day trips and local adventures.

All gone. With good reason, but… gone.

The pool is nice, but how many days can you spend in the water? I’m tired of cooking. I’m over virtual everything. We slept through THE MUPPETS at the drive-in movie.

Waiting and more waiting. College athletics. School as a teacher. School as a parent. We haven’t been to church in months.

My wife is a flight attendant. The airline industry is about as unstable as anything can be.

Our family handles everything better than I do. I worry. I’m frustrated. I’m irritated. They carry on.

There is also much for which we are thankful. Our house is a home. We’re able to go to work. The dinner table is not empty.

The goodness of life and the evanescent uncertainty of trials and tribulations are not lost in the heat and humidity of summer.

We spent last week at the beach. Yes, the beaches are open.

We go to the beach. Neon lights nowhere in sight. The beach. At least fifty yards between us and the next family. The beach. Sea shells. The beach. No life guards. The beach. Dolphins frolicking not too far from the shore. The beach. Sand castles.

A beach where everybody behaves. As best anybody can tell, it is life as normal, except we wore face masks at the grocery store. No big deal.

My heart and mind needed the time away from not being able to get away.

I believe the beach is a magical place. I have no desire to live at the beach. I don’t want the constant responsibility of home maintenance between waves of sun, sand and surf. I like my stuff and I shudder at the notion of our treasures sitting at the bottom of the ocean should a hurricane wash everything away. I cherish the visit, but I’m always ready to come home.

Our children believe in magic. They believe in fairies. They willingly commit to the notions that others label as impossible and unreasonable and outlandish.

They believe in the power of the unseen. God. Wind. Santa Claus.

We find four-leaf clovers. We watch shooting stars. Sophia and Miles believe.

Most years, we find more than our share of sea shells. At low tide, Sophia was exploring a sand bar and discovered a beautiful conch shell. Normally, all the shells we gather belong to the family. I told Sophia, “You found it. It’s yours. I think you should keep it in your room.” She was delighted.

I could tell Miles was disappointed. “I thought all the shells we find belong to the family…”

“Well, normally that’s right. But, Sophia found it by herself and I think it’s only fair if she keeps it in her room.”

Lord, how I hoped Miles would find a conch shell. I got up early and walked the beach. Lots of beautifulness, but no conch shells.

The last day. Sophia was riding waves. Vikki and I were playing in the sand. Miles was practicing his cornhole toss.

I could feel the footsteps behind us.

“Daddy! Did you put this under my chair?”

I didn’t flinch. “What, Miles? I didn’t put anything under your chair.”

He splashed between us and demanded to know. “Well, I was playing cornhole and I went to sit down. This was sitting under my chair. It wasn’t there before. Did you do it?”

A conch shell. Smaller than what Sophia found, but a conch shell.

“Miles! I knew you would find one. You can’t give up. You have to believe.”

He splashed out to Sophia to share the discovery with his sister.

Vikki looked at me. “Alright, how did you get that under his chair without him knowing?”

“I didn’t.”

It’s true. I had nothing to do with that conch shell. The beach is a magical place. Believe.

The moment was more than anything we could have found in Kentucky or Washington or Chicago or Virginia.

The goodness of life is ever-present. Especially in the unseen. Believe.