For My Sons

A medium bodied mid-atlantic ocean wave is maybe the only thing that can make a middle-aged father of two feel as graceful as a swan.  You dive into the wave, but straight on.  You let the volume of water push you up to standing, so when the wave passes you, you’re merely standing in mid-stomach deep water, having just dove through a wave as easy other animal interacting with the world.

When the wave is too little, you risk getting tossed about or thrown to your knees.  When the wave is too big, you’re still somewhat graceful, but you’re just swimming on the other side.

I dive through the waves by the hundred on the beach with you guys.  You’re usually no more than twenty-five feet from me.  I know exactly where you are when I dive in, and the first thing I do on the other side is find you.

Being in the waves with you guys is one of the places that I think might be heaven on earth.  If I remember nothing else from this life, I think I’d like to remember the waves with you guys.  You smiling.  Your faces hardening against the fear of a big wave.  And those same faces filled with accomplishment on the other side of the wave.

I want to remember skip ball, tossing the ball with you guys between people.  Seeing how good our hands can be and how smooth and accurate our throws.  The world empties our around you when all you have to do is throw and catch a ball.

I want to remember the first time Gib ignored his pain and fear and rode the wave on a boogie board.  Then did it six more times even though the wipeouts tried to scare him back.  (That was just today, our last day of summer 2021.)

I want to remember how the summer started for Decker’s waves.  Needing my hand with each possible under.  Then remember how the summer ended … Decker diving into giant whitewater to get drug in to shore.  And diving into the face of big waves with the skip ball in hand or in flight.

I want to remember Mom braving the ocean for the 7^th time this summer.

I want to remember the heat and the sand.  And how cold the water is when you spend a few minutes in the sun.  I want to remember all those pretzels from the Edgewater store.  I want to remember the quick dips in the Edgewater pool before getting back onto the tram to go home.  I want to remember walking up Lakeshore to get Violet.

I want to remember Gibby’s freckles and high-pitch excitement and obscure knowledge of football players and statistics.  I want to remember Decker’s assertiveness, eager to make plans for anyone who would follow him.  I want to remember Decker talking with his hands, pointing a finger with a thumb up when he thinks you get his point.

I want to remember the J’s and how Julianna and Decker get along.  I want to remember Ropewalk and Aunts and Uncles and cousins.  And grandparent trips.  I want to remember the arcades and Nicola’s and the Sea Dragon that looks like it’s going to fly into that little white house.  Who buys that house anyway? And I want to remember the games, the horses and the toilet bowls and shot after shot after shot after shot in basketball.

I want to remember all the tennis.  And realizing how good you guys are.  And remembering tennis baseball.  Run after run.  For the card store, for extra basketball shot or toilet bowl games.

I want to remember all the things I’m already forgetting, just writing this.

I want to remember how lucky we are.

I want to remember the waves.

I want to remember you three, just like this.

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