Castles in the Sand

A Short Reverie About The Serendipitous Meeting That Most Influenced The Rest of My Life

I would often go down to the beach without mother or father, but with trusty bucket in hand. I spent many a happy afternoon calling towers and walls into being from the formless sand.

It was on one such afternoon, a day like any other, that I met him.

I was merely a child, building castles in the sand. But he was a man, building castles in my mind.

I had just finished forming my fourth wall, thus completing my quadrilateral fortress, when a pair of swimming trunks, over-filled with immensely plump buttocks, came crashing down upon my central tower.

The overweight, sweating, bald man then sprawled out over the extent of my construction ground, knocking down my remaining buildings.

He lay completely flat, belly protruding upwards, on the sand where my castle had stood. He put up a chubby hand to shield his squinting eyes from the sun.

Already, I was enthralled. Who was this figure that lived with such gusto?

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, “But you seem to have wrecked my castle.”

From his lying position, he looked left and then right, then released a long, seemingly arduous belch, the fragrance of which reminisced of french fries and a liquor cabinet. Finally he directed his squinting eyes towards me.

“Excuse me, sir, but–”

“WHAT’S THAT NOW, SON? SPEAK UP!”

At first I could barely speak. The confused and inappropriate volume of his voice instilled me with such awe.

“I was saying, I think–”

“SON, I CAN’T HEAR A WORD YOU’RE SAYING.”

“SIR, I WAS SAYING–” I shouted.

“WHAT NOW?” He shouted, equally loudly.

Again, I paused. At this point, I was rather confused because we were both shouting quite loudly. However, my confusion was surpassed by my growing admiration.

His eyes were now closed and he lay there quietly.

Before I could say anything, he said in a gentle tone,

“Do you know what a woman feels like, son?”

What a way, this man had!

“A woman feels like A KICK IN THE BALLS! WAITER, I NEED ANOTHER DRINK OVER HERE!”

I had so much to learn from this man. Luckily, he was not done shouting.

“CHERYL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT” He yelled. “WE HAD NOTHING!”

I was moved by what was clearly a hurt heart.

“BILL, I DIDN’T STEAL YOUR CAR, GODDAMNIT. AND CHERYL, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!”

Oh the things I was learning!

“BILL, DON’T TELL ME HOW TO TREAT MY WIFE! AND MAYBE NEXT TIME I WON’T STEAL YOUR GODDAMN CAR!”

Who was this charismatic figure? I thought. How could I be so lucky?

He stopped and chuckled to himself with eyes closed and arms at his sides.

Could I ever hope to have as complicated a psyche as this fantastic man?

I eagerly awaited his next gem of advice, his next pearl of wisdom.

But he remained quiet.

He lay there, eyes still closed.

Speak. Please, speak again, my teacher, I thought.

“Sir, are you okay?” I asked, hoping no harm had come to him.

“Joey. Joey, come here.”

My name is not Joey, but I eagerly came closer anyway.

“Joey, listen to me. “ He said.

“You’re my son, Joey. Don’t listen to what your mother says. I’m your real father.”

Tears came to my eyes. I felt like this man’s son. And he was my father.

It was then I vowed to become the man my father wanted me to be. I would always try and follow in his footsteps.

I looked at my father and he squinted at me.

I hoped he would never leave, saying

“Please–”

“POLICE?!” He yelled. “SHIT!”

Then he got up and ran away.

 

–BP ’16