Recently, my family joined my brother-in-law's family at the beach for a long weekend. I wasn't sure how my older son, almost two, would enjoy it -- the sun, sand, waves and two older cousins. Last year on a similar vacation, Levi was too young to play with his cousins and he recoiled from the surf.
This time, he and I headed out alone for our first walk down to the beach. Upon arriving, Levi did what he often does in new places: He picked a direction and just kept walking. He may have walked 300 yards (a long way for a two-year-old), when I turned him back around. On the way back, I coaxed him to the edge of the waves. At first he was apprehensive but over the following minutes he experimented with the waves -- running from them, planting his feet in them, taking a few more steps towards them.
Soon, he was in the ocean up to his knees and the stronger waves would knock him down. I watched to see if being thrown to the wet sand would end our frolic. It did not. He turned the maneuver into a game. When a bigger wave came, he let it push him down so he could ride it out on his bottom.
The position he eventually took was lying on his stomach facing the sea near where the waves crested on the beach. The effect was the most junior form of body-surfing; the stronger waves reached just high enough to envelop his body. I saw an opportunity for father-son solidarity and lay down next to him. As each wave came in, I turned my head to check if the saltwater had overwhelmed him.
"More," Levi said between waves ("more," being one of his thirty words).
This is the image I'm left with from that weekend: My older son sprawled in the sand, saying, "More," as ocean waves lap at him. I pray this is his posture in life. I pray he doesn't fear life's waves, but makes a game with them -- points his head towards them and says, "more."
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