October at the beach is a big tease.
There is just enough hot sun to make you believe that it’s still summer.
On the first day of vacation, I watch my husband jump the waves. He calls to me to join him, but I believe it to be Fall, not a time to swim.
But the next day, feeling cheated out of the experience, and a tad disappointed in myself, I run to him, and we jump and swim and laugh and it is amazing.
Autumn on the coast.
Down the beach, my daughter delights in her new kite, learning to unspool it, little by little, to the brilliant blue sky.
The breeze is just enough to take it up high.
Against the puffy white clouds, the colorful bird dips and soars, attracting beachcombers.
And me.
She hands me the spool.
The string is taught but right away it unravels quickly.
With a panicky feeling, I try to take control.
But I feel surprisingly nervy. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before.
My daughter reassures me that I can do it. She holds the handle patiently and I try to let the line go out, slowly, slowly.
But no. The win suddenly feels fierce. The cord flies loosely and the kite feels out of control.
But there’s a blue sky and the umbrellas are hardly even fluttering.
It’s me.
My anxiety.
I feel so inept and elderly.
Because I don’t want to fail my daughter in this simple activity.
And then she talks me through it for another moment.
Encouraging. Giving me instructions.
A kite – it’s a toy for crying out loud.
But still we hold on tight, side by side, determined to keep this Costco bird in the sky.
I just want to lock it in, to go no higher, to just bring it down safely to the sand.
But my daughter likes the thrill.
My face is salty and the tears sting at my eyes. And when I close them, the bright sunshine etches this present moment in a golden red.
I wish to put a pin in it.
I want it to last.
My daughter teaching me and holding me up.
How I have needed that.
For so many years I thought I was the teacher. In the end, she eclipses me – and isn’t that the way of it?
Of course, it feels completely appropriate – but also a little bit off.
As parents we want to believe that our role as mentors goes on forever.
But really, eventually we become receivers of our children’s wisdom and care.
And like the sand at the surf that sucks my feet into different contortions – this is the way of time. Change.
And I think we grow and age most gracefully when we accept the surf – and respect it – and marvel at the timelessness.
It’s a humbling.
And like flying a kite, as parents, our success is a tentative thing. Because we are completely reliant on our own skill, but also dependent on capricious breezes.
In other words, the tighter we hold on, the less free our kite will fly.
We know that we must hold tight, but also keep our fingers soft and light and let the line run free.
All while trying not to fight the winds.
And then we must be willing to finally reel in the line and swivel clip it into a locked position.
This is like unspooling a life, one memory at a time.
A kite, a memory, a lifetime, really – there are so many ways to fly.
