Growing up my family would spend weekends at the place pictured above. This was a long time ago so it looked very different; back then ours was basically the only building on that cliff. This helped give the whole place an “end of the earth” feel.
Here, as a child, I would sit on those brown railings, mesmerized watching the waves come and go. It was frightening to see the force of the water, the height of the splash, and to hear the sound of the crash. Unbelievably, at times I could feel drops of water as a wave hit the rocks. I would think of strategies to make it out alive if I ever fell in. There were some adventurous people who would walk on the rocks below me, and looking at them was the equivalent of watching a live horror movie. They would climb on the rocks and a wave would splash them. They would laugh as some of the white foam would tickle their feet. I had been there long enough to know that white foam was capable of taking back to sea anything it wanted: branches, debris, shoes, whole trunks of trees, anything. The ocean could get mean in the blink of an eye. I feared for those people. Inevitably, one morning we woke up to the news some drunken fools thought those rocks were a great hangout and were swept to sea. From there who knows what happened.
To go swimming, we would head down the cliff and onto a white sand beach nearby. Though much calmer, it did have waves but no rocks to crash into. I remember swimming with my father, and my sisters and perhaps a cousin or two. There were large waves and we would swim past their breaking point. We would lay on our backs and wait for a wave. Instead of body surfing it, we stayed floating on our backs. As the wave neared, the current would pull us in. We would be swept back and floated all the way up the wave, until we were almost upright and could see the beach; just to free-fall down once the wave past us on its way to shore. It was an exhilarating feeling … most of the time. And then there were the times you miscalculated, and instead of free falling as the wave passed, you crashed forward in a face plant as the wave broke. Confusion and panic ensued. You didn’t know what was up and what was down and it would happen so fast you wouldn’t know just how much air you had left.
One time this face plant happened, and when I finally made it up to get air I saw another seemingly gigantic wave about to crash into me. I took a deep breath and dove underneath it. If you go deep enough, the wave rolls over you massaging your back. If you don’t go deep enough, you get caught face first in it and risk being toppled over yet again. I was stuck in a washing machine cycle. Make it up to breathe, see enormous wave, panic, dive. Rinse and repeat. Chances are it wasn’t this dramatic, but it sure felt that way.
I wonder what my parents were thinking to let us swim in an ocean like that. Then I realize I should be grateful for having parents who let me be, and for having a guardian angel that kept me out of trouble all this time.
Flash forward thirty something years and I am a mom to fearless child (hence his nickname Fearless in this blog). He is rambunctious, active and ultra spirited. He is a shinning example of living in the moment where his tunnel vision will focus solely on the objective at hand and ignore the rest of what is around him. So for example, if he is playing with a ball and it rolls on the street – he is not the kid that would think of stopping and checking if a car is coming. That puts him in eminent danger … constantly.
When we are with my friend J, she doesn’t quite seem at ease. Fearless makes her nervous and every once in a while she raises her shoulders, lowers her eye brows and grimaces. It’s one of those “oh my God moments” and inevitably Fearless is the cause. He has, once again, jumped from somewhere too high, flipped on something, or narrowly escaped a calamity.
If I had a bubble wrap suit, then maybe I would consider putting one on him but in general, I let him be just that …. Fearless. Of course I’ll stop him from running into the street – or at least I will scream loud enough to scare the beegeezus out of him – but if he wants to climb a tree I let him.
Because in truth, of the two times he ended up with stitches on his head … neither were his fault. The first one, see Exhibit A below, he fell from the top bunk while he was asleep. And the second, see Exhibit B, he was horsing around with his brother brushing his teeth, lost his balance, and fell backwards into the bathtub cracking his head open on the wall.
As parents, we have this insane notion that we can protect our children from all danger. We can’t. I can give Fearless boundaries but as I teach him to respect them he WILL push them, and as he pushes something dangerous might happen. But I cannot control him, he MUST push those boundaries because he is a spirited child who is learning. Someone once told me to imagine entering a dark empty room. You can’t see anything so you explore with your hands and begin to feel for the walls. Once you have done it enough times, you intuitively know where those walls are and you will not have to push against them every time. But if each time you go into the dark room the walls are moved, then each time you will need to touch them to get your bearings. So it is with children and boundaries. If you are constant they will eventually follow them, but they must test and push to make sure they are there. And sometimes while doing that, they may get hurt.
In my heart of hearts, I believe we all must have some sort of innate compass. One that gets skewed if not found naturally. So if our parents won’t let us climb a tree for fear we might fall and break a leg, then that compass get’s skewed. We can’t find it.
If I handed down to my boys my fear of the ocean, their compass would get skewed. But if I share my experience with them, and let them go into the water themselves, their innate compass will show them what is too dangerous and what is fun.
By looking at that ocean hitting the rocks on the cliff for hours, I bred enough fear to not do something stupid. But by swimming in rough waters and getting a little shaken-up I learned to respect the sea each time I swim; something I still often do.
For his sake, for my sake, and certainly for my friend’s sake, I hope Fearless finds his compass soon. And that a little angel protects him, as it did me, as he faces the dangers of being a rambunctious five year old.
