The Prince of tides

I recently enjoyed the absolute privilege of introducing another young man to the ocean and I am still so thrilled about what a perfect pairing it turned out to be.

The little boy yelled with delight when he spotted the enormous new friend he’d been anticipating meeting for months, and that old reliable ocean rolled right on up to greet its tiny young charge.

They danced then, the boy and the tide, and I felt my heart swell in complete syncopation with the waves.

In and out they moved on another day that was probably too chilly for most. I stayed close, both due to riptide warnings and to my own fascination with the budding relationship.

And, when the little guy plopped himself down in the surf and that big, powerful gulf broke amiably around him, I knew I had witnessed another perfect metaphor.

Because that’s what life is like for all children, especially those from hard places. They wade into unfamiliar water that could knock them down as easily as it lifts them up.

They plant their tender feet into shifting sand and hold their own against a rising tide. And, more often than not, the swell breaks around them and they take a deep breath and face another wave.

The little guy wore himself out racing up and down the beach, and in and out of the surf. When waves knocked him down, he laughed and scrambled right back up.

The paradox of the sea — its reliability and its unpredictability, the way we humans both mark our time by its steady pace and recognize the constructive and destructive shift of each tide — mirrors childhood.

It’s striking, then, to see a small boy knocked down, picked up, tossed around and, grinning widely, so ready to face the next wave.