Dad's Gift for a Lifetime

Quiet moments with a father can fuel a lifetime of love

Ten years ago -- wow, can NOT believe it's been that long -- I was doing some house-sitting during the summer months.  I was lucky enough to be able to spend my evenings looking after a beautiful home that was situated along the Intracoastal waterway just south of Sarasota, Florida.

I was supposed to be writing the great American novel (ha, 10 years on and it's still never materialized), but with the spectacular, ever-changing view of the water, jumping mullet, and a family of ospreys flying directly overhead, it was a challenge to get myself to look at a computer screen.

I just wanted to watch this magical world that in my normal daily life, I wouldn't have access to.

From my privileged view on the expansive patio, next to a lovely swimming pool and a deck for launching a kayak, I could see a sandbar that ran across quite a stretch of the waterway. In low tide, it was a favored spot for egrets and herons and I often sat on the dock and watched the waterfowl rummage for their dinner.

One Saturday evening, I was doing just that, when two children, maybe seven or eight years old, paddled their kayak up to the sandbar. A little boy jumped out, followed by a girl, his sister, I guessed. Barefoot, they poked around in the sand, letting out occasional squeals of discovery, and taking turns showing each other their finds.

It felt very sweet to see these two little kids doing what I didn’t think kids did anymore: explore.

Squishing their feet into the soft sand, digging around for shells ... looking outward to the world around them instead of inward to a television or video game.

I hadn’t seen which house they’d kayaked from; but they weren’t out on the sandbar long before a man emerged from the house next door to where I was staying.  I guessed he was their father because he walked to his own deck and called out to the young boy. “Keep an eye on your sister."  Then, the Dad went back inside.

But not even 10 minutes later, just as I was leaving my dock to take a quick dip in the pool, the father emerged from his house again and called out again to his children, “How’s it going out there?” This time I heard them yell back excitedly, “Dad! Dad! We found a horseshoe crab!”

I cooled off in the pool for about 10 minutes and when I walked back to the dock to take in the sunset, I spied the Dad out there now on the sandbar with his kids, checking out the horseshoe crabs alongside them.

I curled my legs up underneath me and settled into the dock bench, drying my skin in the last rays of the setting sun, and watched the family.

I sometimes caught half-sentences carried across the water by the breeze -- the children talking quietly with their Dad.

I imagined the Mom inside cooking dinner, looking out the window occasionally to catch sight of her husband bending down to look at something his little girl was pointing out, or resting his hand for a moment on the top of his little boy’s head.

Maybe for them it was just another typical weekend day with their Dad.  They must be about 18 or 20 by now, and maybe they've forgotten all about that particular day on the sandbar.

But I doubt they’ll ever forget the feeling of the memory of having their father nearby: the protective presence when he called from the dock, his patient sandbar exploration as the sun was setting behind them, the quiet sharing of being a family.  

Just a handful of moments, not even an hour, between father and son and daughter. A handful of moments but a deep and lasting feeling of love. A handful of moments ... and a lifetime of memories.

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