Atlantic Ocean 1950s 2024

Sandcastles

Dad often sat in the sand near the ocean’s edge, dribbling watery sand into piles of dots that, in time, built fantasy castles. When the tide was lower, he sat farther from the shore, and dug a hole until it filled with water. He taught us this favorite family pastime. Sometimes we helped. Sometimes we watched. Always we were saddened when the sea washed the magic away. With each day, each castle, he seemed lost in thought, focused without focusing, always content. He was a gentle man of few words. We ran and splashed around him, drawn like magnets to this anchor of a man.

60 years later on the coast of Puerto Rico, I watched fathers make sandcastles with buckets and shovels. They worked tirelessly in the breeze and sunshine, scooping and shaping turrets and walls. Their children also helped, admired, ran about, and seemingly lost interest as their fathers built and dreamed.

Adventure

We hold the ends of a raft, my sister and me. Our hair is wet with sea water, our skin covered in salt and sand. We have ridden a wave and are steadied for another. In the distance our mother is looking, not at us but our baby sister, who has slipped from her grasp, attempting to reach us, her older sisters.

Crab Catchers

Our mother loved to catch crabs, and boil them for cocktail hour snacks. We would tie fish heads from the local market to a weight with twine. Then, at low tide, we’d toss them into the marsh. Slowly, deceitfully, we pulled the string, bringing these orange creatures, tinged in blue, into our net. In the bucket their claws scratched the sides as they struggled to escape. From the bucket to a large boiling pot, the cruel scratching persisted, until it didn’t. With pliers and walnut picks, she showed us how to find meat in the shells, a delicacy we served on Ritz crackers. She was a different force from our father, yet an equal protector and guide.

Waiting

The first two sisters prepare to swim. They wait in hot bathing caps on their mother with always one more thing to do. Soon song would erupt as they sang to fill the time. The sound tickled inside their heads.

Sisters

First one, then two, now three. (Before four.) The sisters. We cluster in the sand, before dad’s camera, documenting a moment of pride. Our mother, a beauty, appears content and calm, as she holds the youngest, the third. My sister and I amuse with antics between dashes into the sea.

A few years later, his camera catches this moment of spontaneous delight. A fourth child with inner joy, shared effortlessly with those she loves. In her, emotions run deep. She is a blessing to all who know her. Here she is giving each of us the tenderness of giggles.