White Lies

Keenly observing from afar, the stranger watched as the young boy transitioned from ponderous child to fearful and knowing man. The January tide ceremoniously marched in and retreated out, teasing and enticing, warning and threatening.

Squinting through the icy wind, tightening his brow as he sought verification that the father’s forceful hand gestures, pointing wildly, there to teach but also to scare, were the same his father had passed on to him all those years ago. They definitely looked similar.

Their visits to the sea weren’t frequent, so it must’ve been hard for Dad to have chosen his moment. As a child he’d always been inquisitive, almost demanding, rather than afraid; what was going through the dog’s mind as he held that impenetrable pre-bark stare? How long would it take to fill the living room with electricity if he were to simply ignore his mum’s pleas and leave the switches on the wall sockets set to on? And why couldn’t they swim in the sea during the winter?

The young lad would surely have the same questions he’d had: if it’s too cold to swim then why does everyone shout at me to just get in when I’m getting in slowly the rest of the year?

The young lad’s dad would’ve looked out to the sea in the same way his own had, all those years back, shaking his head, holding back his words as if filtering through a list to find the most appropriate.

“A wave is more precious than an idea. The wisp of a cloud more so than an explanation, dear boy”

He wished his dad had said something like this instead of the cold, hard truth.

“Where do you think the snow comes from son?”

“From the sky Dad?”

“You’ve been reading too many books son.”

He remembered how he’d looked up at his father, more embarrassed than quizzical now, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Son, there are things they don’t put in the books anymore…

You know when you’re in the sea in the summer time and that lovely feeling of the fresh water, pushing the sand in and out of your toes….

Well, that sand isn’t there in the winter…… It’s there”

His dad pointed at the snow back on the roads, away from the sea and the beach.

“Yes, you can swim in the winter but by god you’ve gotta swim, because if you try and touch the seabed you better remember that as long as you see the snow on the ground, there’s no sand on that seabed”

“So where would I put my feet?”

His dad raised his eyebrows, leant inwards, saying more with that movement and his silence, than words ever could.

Looking on for more than fifteen minutes now, he’d developed an aching in his right side; the side he’d push off from as he’d run for his father’s stocky and all-encompassing embrace, guiding him in and shielding him from all that could hurt and confuse him; the same side that’d lean into his father as they watched terrifying news updates and repetitive TV ads together, holding out for the weekly sports events that’d either make his father so happy or so angry; the side that’d happily get covered in crisp crumbs or whatever his father was eating that Saturday or Sunday; the same side that’d lose all feeling as his father’s weight became an anvil on top of his spidery frame, not yet with its own characteristics and power, not yet ready to lean onto another.

Feeling life back inside himself, he watched the father and son turn and walk from the shore back towards their car where they’d move on from this moment onto something new.

He wondered where his son was.

Related posts:

Para entender um processo de psicoterapia é necessário pensar primeiro em escuta. ⁣A escuta qualificada é pautada por métodos e estudos que o psicólogo assimila em seus estudos teóricos, é um…

Where breath touches our lips Where the land meets the sky Where your hands meet my hips, And your gaze finds my eyes That’s where love is born, and will return again to die.

Way to many people in business these days just kind of go through the motions or marketing, they don’t think about what they are doing. The treason why I believe is access to way to many tools…