There once was a boy and an ocean
When they first met, what emotion!
Joy and delight!
Giggles! (Some fright)
[how would you finish this limerick?]
This is a photo of my oldest brother and (I think) my aunt. I’m guessing it’s Ocean Grove, New Jersey, but I could be wrong. I just know that my father and his family used to go there. They nicknamed it Ocean Grave, I think because there were a lot of older people there.
Bear in mind, all of this could be totally wrong.
The expression on my brother’s face, though, is undeniable joy.
I was reading this morning from William Willimon’s book Accidental Preacher — a self-illustrated memoir — and came across this little sketch:
He had based his sketch on a photo. Here’s what he said,
I love that photo’s depiction of one of the great joys of aging — leading a little one toward the grand adventure of the wide world, gripping his hand reassuringly, egging him on to face into the wind and leap the waves.
But yesterday, when I looked at that picture of the two of us — the little boy and the old man — it occurred to me that I had misread that moment. I, who always thought that I was leading the child, saw that I was being led…
He was all future; I was now mostly past. In truth, the little one, still fresh in the world, had me by the hand, encouraging me to make my way into the deep…
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 