Lava

Hey papa

do you wanna play The Water is Lava

Can do

OK, you gotta go in towards the water as far as you can and then when the waves come out, you can’t let them touch your feet.

It’s one of those moments in parenting when I’m kind of humoring him.

Sure,

why not

Assuming, all the while, that it’s not going to be that much fun

Just part of the job.

It’s then, that I notice my feet.

A bit soggy, and the sand squishes ever so satisfyingly between my toes. The waves pound, gentle breeze urging them on.

And he, being brave, is undaunted.

I’m distracted, not fully present

until I play a couple rounds of the game.

His giggles are contagious, and so is his joy.

And this is something worth catching.

Let’s see if we can predict how far the wave is going to come up

I’m gonna stand here and see if I can get exactly the limit of the wave.

Oh, that was close!

A few passes come and go, and we’re swept, in our joy

over to another section of beach, when we discover the Big Hole. Clearly there’s been some work done today.

A lot of digging.

It’s dark out and it’s hard to see just exactly how deep the hole goes. We make a couple jokes about stepping in and going all the way down, deep, deep into the ground.

He, being brave, takes the leap anyway and ends up peering out from the hole, edges up to his chest.

A couple more leaps in and out,

Leap

In

Out

Leap

In

Out

I pause, crane my neck to the stars, listen to the waves, feel the breeze

And notice that he’s written something in the sand

I assume he, being brave, has shared his name, a special message, or even an ode to the gods of the deep, signaling to the world, and the stars, and all the critters of the ocean

What did you write?

I ask

It’s nothing quite so poetic

Nice hole

He responds

I do a spit take and we giggle together for a bit.

And slowly meander back from the beach, sand all over our toes and sticking to our feet.

We spy a tiny park with a large swinging bench that he hops onto like a sprite, and I, being old and young all at once, ease my way onto.

We swing back and forth a few times, and the breeze keeps us here

I hop off, and he, being brave, snatches his chance to stand

pulls rhythmically on the ropes, and gets his speed up.

He swings for good minutes while I take a moment to once again marvel at the stars.

To consider who we are

and where we are.

He’s getting older

But still not too old to play

I’m getting older, too

And guess what

First of all, chicken butt

Second of all

I’m not too old either