It was a hot, hazy August day in Virginia Beach, and one that taught me a lesson about my impossible desire to be in control.
Neil, Gina and I were on a mini-vacation before she started kindergarten. We had a cozy base camp on the beach with chairs and umbrellas, a well-stocked cooler and a giant pail of sand toys. We even invited a babysitter along, so Neil and I could truly relax.
At one point, I realized Gina and the sitter weren’t anywhere in sight. “Neil, do you see Lisa and Gina?” He scoured the shoreline but couldn’t see them either. “They probably just went on a walk to look for shells. They’ll be right back,” he said calmly as he popped a beer can and settled back into his beach chair.
After about 15 minutes they still hadn’t reappeared, and I got worried. “I’m going to look for them,” I told Neil, and headed off in the direction I last saw them. Along the way I saw plenty of 5-year-olds picking up shells and building castles with imaginative abandon, but no Gina. I saw plenty of teenagers splashing tentatively on the shore, discretely checking around to see who was watching them. No Lisa. Continue reading →