By Joyce Bauman Gills
Contributing columnist

On the beach in late August, I pulled my chair down close to the ocean but not too close; I didn’t want to be soaked by the rushing waves and end up buried in the sand. I settled in a spot where the waves barely reached me and only occasionally washed a gentle froth over my feet. And then I watched.

A few yards to my left, an older couple was seated in striped beach chairs. Both were white-haired, he wore royal blue swim trunks and she wore a hot pink cover-up with a straw hat and looked smashing. Together they relaxed with their legs stretched out in the sun while behind them their entourage of grown children and grandchildren filled the shade of a large canopy.

The crashing waves of high tide must have beckoned to the restless spirit of the teenage boys. Two of them rose and began walking down to the surf when a third jumped up and ran by them, plunging full-bore into the waves. That was my son Clay. The other two, Matt and Andy, chased after him and entered the water in a big raucous of back flops over the waves and dives under curls of blue-green water. The three show-offs were soon followed by a fourth, Luke, who plowed through the oncoming waves and jumped onto his cousins’ backs. The fathers were then forced to leave the comfort of their bag chairs and coolers full of bottled refreshments grudgingly. It was a sacrifice they were obliged to make once they saw the teenagers begin some competitive body surfing.

The mothers’ got up next. They walked down to the edge of the water, ever so slowly, with sunglasses still on and obviously not intending to join in. Grandfather looked up to find himself surrounded by skirted bathing suits and realized he was the only man left ashore. He suddenly found his position in the lounge chair a lot less comfortable and rose to tackle the surf head on. He let the force of the waves rack his body one after the other as he fought his way out from the breakers and into deep but calmer waters.  Grandma left her chair as well and went to the canopy to dig through the beach bag. A moment later she returned to the brink of crashing waves with the camera. She walked in as far as she dared. Billows of hot pink dipped into the water while she got a good shot of the men catching a wave.

The boys and men then began calling to the moms and at first they hollered back, “No!” and shook their heads but finally the entire group of women were encouraged to come in. Up at the canopy, towels were tossed off rafts and the young girls and women of the group showed up tentatively along the shoreline. The girls tried to use the puffy rafts as shields to protect them against the buffeting waves. Several squeals could be heard as the cold water splashed bare skin and rose above bikini-clad bottoms. Before long, the teenagers were all bobbing together in the deep water.

Three moms had also been coaxed into the rough waves to complete the reunion while Grandmother snapped pictures from the beach. She got a shot of Clay and Matt tossing Lauren off her raft. Then she laughed out loud as the two stubborn boys fought over the raft and ended up riding the next wave in together. Then, Luke and Andy tossed Kate and her girlfriend off their rafts too, just to hear them scream. Meanwhile, the men and grandpa kept body surfing again and again while the wonderful waves kept coming.

I sat quietly watching that family and felt a sudden sadness. I knew that my son, Clay was not really here. He was at home working to make money for his third year of college. His sister, Kate was also at work and raising two children of her own. None of the cousins were here either. They were all grown now and preparing to move into colleges across the country.

As I sat there wishing for the past, I realized that the waves no longer reached me and that the sounds from the surf had quieted. I could feel the sun baking the drying sand around my feet.

The sounds of activity from the water’s edge were now overtaken by the late afternoon singing of locusts from the dunes. The sodden family came out of the placid waters adjusting their suits and dragging their rafts to return to the shade of the canopy.

The tide had gone out on them for today but the receding waves washed away my children’s footprints from the sand long ago.

While I folded up my chair to leave, I thought how the tide must come in again and when it did I would be the one resting in the striped beach chair beside my husband in his royal blue swim trunks.

Then, in my bright pink cover up and straw hat I must remember this day and be happy to snap pictures from my place of comfort on the shoreline.

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