Reality at the Beach

My favorite prayer is, God, don't let reality crush me. I love and hate this life. If it wasn't for all the day to day responsibilities, disappointments, heart-breaks, let-downs, failures, and betrayals, I might call this place Nirvana or Heaven, but maybe that's why it's called Life.

I get it that I'm supposed to adjust and cope. I know that you have to create your own version of reality, and you reap what you sew, there's good times and bad times, and you gotta roll with the punches, and I've heard all the cliches that support the fact that you have to deal with it, but I still dream of being a kid again when reality was that thing beyond the hills and mountains of forever, and that, maybe, it was possible to never have to face it.

Last night I didn't sleep well. I went to Starbucks, and drank coffee. It kept me up till almost 3 a.m. I woke up bleary-eyed and feeling like my joints were glued in place. Pepito sprang from his den of blankets, furiously licked my face. It meant pee-pee time. I had no choice but to stretch and heave and push my body out of bed to take him out. I ambled downstairs like a bear emerging from hibernation, and went out into the morning light.

My eyes were blinded by the explosion. Few things are better than bright sunlight glinting off snow. I was jolted back to life, and even though I was a bit fuzzy-headed, I knew I had to make the most out of this day. I went back inside, and ordered Coleton to get dressed so we could go for a ride to the beach. I love how that kid can go from idly pushing his Lego cars and trucks one second to a state of full-tilt-throttle-open-Indy-car roaring to the finish line the next. That kind of enthusiasm can either make you crazy, or make you say, geez, I wish I was a kid again. At that moment, I fully embraced kid-crazy enthusiasm.

The catch-phrase was, "That's so five seconds ago." All the way to the beach, he kept baiting me with it. It must have been from one of the cartoons he watched, but when I'd show animated mock-enthusiastic disapproval, he erupted in laughter, Pepito being buffeted and jolted on his lap.

"Hey, that's so 4 seconds ago," he said, with an impish gleam in his eyes.

"What?" I cried out, as if kicked in the stomach. "Four seconds. I can't even breath in that time." More uncontrolled laughter. The countdown went to three, then it went to two, then to one not long before we drove into the parking lot.

Of all the beaches in town, South Pine Creek Beach gives the illusion of something a bit wild. It's not deep, maybe 40 feet at its greatest point, and not long, probably about two football fields in length, but it's far enough away from the few adjoining houses and buildings that you feel like you're on the edge of a point of no return. It's the perfect place for a boy and a dog to cut loose, and lose themselves in the moment.

While we walked, I took plenty of pictures with my cell phone. Boy and dog  joyfully ran in the wind. The sun sparkled off the water. Waves rose and broke with a crash and a hiss on the well worn light-coffee-colored sand. Pepito whizzed about in butterfly bursts, turns, and stops, sniffing the sand and rocks. Coleton stood at the water's edge shouting out at the surf, sun, and sky. It reminded me of a primordial praise song and dance to the Gods and Goddesses. To high-minded academics and critics, it could have contained endless symbolism. To him it was probably just a lot fun - the unbridled urge-fulfillment that kids indulge in on a regular basis. It's the stuff that most adults, save for those in the Arts, have lost. To me, it was a view on the most wondrous, precious parts of my reality.

I didn't want to leave, like I always don't, but there comes a time when you have to. Reality has a voice, and it was calling. Besides, there was that other voice - that of Coleton telling me he was hungry, and a Seven-Eleven was not far away.