Gravity

One of the first things we do when we get to the beach, after we've set up camp, is dig a big old hole. On this day we first dug a trench, and I worked on the hole (and the fortish wall in front of it) while Kiernan played with his dinosaurs in the trench. This big old hole usually takes a couple hours to dig, but this work is not constant. This work is constantly interrupted by trips to the ocean to fill buckets with water for Kiernan's trench experiments. He loves to set up his dinosaurs in the trench and then pour a bucketful of water at the mouth of the trench and see how the dinosaurs react. So I spend a lot of time walking to and fro from the ocean with buckets, all the while thinking of ways to work "carrying water for the Kiernan Administration" into a blog post.

There, I just did it. Phew.

I used to pretend that digging this big hole and making a fort and building sand castles was all for Kiernan and was a chore for me. I suppose I'm done with that pretense now. It turns out I just like playing in the sand. In particular, digging a big hole in the sand. Kiernan likes this too, to be sure, but I'm done pretending it's solely for him. I'll be honest. I dig this big hole because it's fun and somehow primal and having a son gives me an excuse to do this without looking like too much of a crazy person. There's something cool about rooting about in the sand. I'd love to dig a whole network of tunnels down there.

Please, let's not page Dr. Freud at this point.

At any rate, it turns out these big holes I dig for myself Kiernan and me to play in are not just interesting to us. It turns out these holes are kid magnets. In particular, boy magnets.

Now I've covered this before. In our first trip to the beach our hole was overrun by a bunch of kids. This happened again on our next trip, but I never got around to posting about that. Which is a shame, because it elicited some great quotes about kindergarten and Oprah. I promise to try to get around to that.

What usually happens is that I'm in the hole scooping out sand. I can barely be seen by people down the beach from me. Invariably some kid catches a glimpse of the hole and decides to investigate. He approaches with his little brother(s). They all say, "Cool!" Then they ask, "Can we jump in?" This is not so much a question as a mission statement. I look around hoping to see parents, grandparents, guardians, officers of the court...anybody. No adult manifests. The kids jump in.

At this point I leave the hole--I can't really be mucking about in this deep hole in the sand with children I don't know when their parents aren't around--and go to sit on the blanket and Kiernan sets about the work of making new friends.

This is a bittersweet moment. I lose the lovely labor of making my weird sand hole. But then again I gain a few moments of quiet reflection. Of peace. I can sit while Kiernan plays with other kids. And for a brief moment I see the value of having more than one kid. For a time I'm not required to be "on" for Kiernan. He is engaged with other kids. I'm basically unnecessary.

Yeah, the kids engage with me. For some reason kids do this. Just as they feel comfortable pouncing on the cool hole/fort I've constructed in the sand they somehow naturally feel comfortable conversing with me and generally disregarding my personal space. Most of the time this is fine. Sometimes it is weird. In the case of the second trip to the beach, which I promise to elaborate on, it serves to help me understand my friends who do not want kids and do not care to be around them. I wonder where their parents are and why they are suddenly my responsibility and why it's okay that they are suddenly dismantling this very cool hole I've dug in the sand.


No matter, it's only sand. And in today's case it's all good because Kiernan has again found some friends. Three brothers. Justin is the oldest (pictured, with stick), and he is fascinated by the hole but also fairly respectful. He bothers to ask me my name and Kiernan's name. He then proceeds to carve our names in the sand of our fort walls. I can tell he's a nice kid. The middle brother, Ryan (pictured, digging), is too. At one point he realizes they have all destroyed the fort and he says to me, "You did a lot of work. We're ruining it." I wave him off. It's only sand.

The littlest brother (pictured, blonde) is nice too. His birthday is exactly a month past Kiernan's. He is a big kid, much taller than Kiernan, but not quite as articulate. He is easily the most destructive of the lot, but then he is four and his name is Trevor. Trevor is one of those names. It's a harbinger name, like Cody or Dakota or Cooper. When you meet one of those kids, you know you're in for trouble. That's just the way it is.

Trevor isn't a bad kid, he's just a destructo kid. His brothers keep him in check for a bit but then they run off to do their thing and Trevor starts destroying the fort. He's not my kid so I'm not going to stop him. Eventually his mother shows up and says, weakly, "Trevor, don't mess that up. Don't mess up other people's stuff." But she says this half-heartedly, as if she's just entering it into the record. Again, it's just sand so who cares?


Finally Justin and Ryan run off and Kiernan and Trevor get down to serious playing. They take off down the beach and play in the surf. I've been trying to get Kiernan to play in the water all day and he has refused. But these boys jump in and he's all for it. He rolls around in the water with Trevor. They find a huge rock and decide to work together to bring it back to our base camp. This takes a good twenty minutes, but they persevere. It's really pretty neat watching them do this. Two mini Sisyphuses working so hard, not asking for help.

When Kiernan and Trevor arrive at the wrecked hole/fort with their rock, they play there for a bit. I say a word or two about Kiernan's dinosaurs.

Trevor says, "Your dad sounds like Elvis."

Wait. What?

Kiernan says, "Who's Elvis?"

Without hesitation Trevor replies, "He's the famouser dancer in the world."

"Dancer?" I say, before I can stop myself.

"Singer," Trevor corrects himself. "He's the famouser singer in the world."

Folks, I've heard a lot of things about myself. That I used to look like Lou Diamond Philips. That I should record audio books. That I sound like Elvis, the famouser singer/dancer in the world? That's a first.

Eventually Trevor and his family have to leave. We walk Justin's boogie board down to where the family has their blanket, over near the rocks, and Kiernan says goodbye. This goodbye is far easier than the first goodbye of the season, when he moped all the way home. This time he just says "Bye!" and heads off with me, content in the time he's had to play.

The big old hole in the sand is mostly filled in, thanks to the ministrations of Trevor, so I don't have to do anything. We pack up and head back home. This is probably the last day of our beach season. We'll see. If it was, it was a good one.