The other day we went to the beach after a long time. While the kids were having fun with the waves, I sat watching and for the first time ever in my life, I didn't go into the water or even got my feet wet. I simply sat there, watching the tides gushing in, and then withdrawing, only to come kissing the sand again. The kids sure were enjoying and there I sat, clicking photos - digitally imprinting their excitement.
I was reminded of how I used to wait for the holidays to come, so that we could visit my cousin, whose family almost invariably took us to the park followed by an evening at the beach. We used to have lot of fun, soaking in the saline water and riding with the waves - splashing all around, oblivious to anything else in the world... and as the darkness set in, when the time came to go back it was like saying good bye to one's dearest...
The journey back home was equally eventful - it was impossible to ensure that the car seats were dry with a bunch of dripping wet children who didn't know how to stand still! I wonder how Aunt could keep herself from shouting at us as in spite of her precautions we always ended up soiling the seats of the car. Cleaning out the sand deposits from inside car was a difficult task. Back at home, it was an even greater war with four of us and the clothes all covered in sand and sea water (I don't think I ever heard of swim suits back then). Still, I can only recall the fun we had.
Now as I watch my own kids having the fun, I know that a part of me still want to rush into the water and have fun with them as well. How I wish I could be carefree as they are; as once I was! But there I sat, refusing to acknowledge the child in me, trying to convince myself that I no longer wish to play in the water.
Growing up does make one strange!
