I see a lot of myself in my son, that long-legged whisp of a boy who stole my heart so many years ago. We used to walk the beach, collecting treasures from the sea and taking them home to what we called our treasure fence: discarded flip-flops, a child's scuba mask, frisbees, and chewed-up tennis balls. Colored pieces of glass worn smooth by the tides and lengths of a ship's rope so heavy it took both of us to drag it home. There were countless broken fishing poles and nets, coolers covered in barnacles, and sunglasses galore.
Over time, the fence evolved into an attraction, and people from the neighborhood brought us their beach finds, which we added to our treasure fence. One day, when he was in his teens, my son chose friends and skateboards over our walks on the beach. Although I was disappointed, I was happy to have had those times and even more proud of his accomplishments in life.
One day, as I was taking a ride through our old neighborhood, which I often did, I came upon our old house and saw a large pile of items at the curb waiting for the garbage truck. It was our treasure fence that was replaced with a metal one, which was cold and boring. I told my son what I had seen, and I believe I saw a look of sorrow on his face. It's okay, Dad he said. I still have fond memories of our walks and treasure-hunting, which I'll cherish for a long time.
I still walk the beach, although a lot slower, but it gives me plenty of time to look for treasures both in the sand and within my heart.
Mike 2025
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