Lessons From A Beach Pier

A Tribute To My Dad

During many summers of my youth, for one full seven-day vacation week, the beach and the beach pier provided lessons. Lessons that at the time I did not know I was receiving.

Dad, the pier was always your place to be.

Just be.

You had a usual spot about halfway down the pier where with sunglasses, shorts, sunscreen, fishing pole, and a big grin, you were content. You would fish, although it seemed you really didn’t care if you caught anything. The rays of the sun, glisten of the water, and feel of the pole in your hands were what mattered.

You were always where us kids knew we could find you, no matter where we wondered to. Sometimes, when we came to check in with you, you would hand over the fishing pole and guide us on how to cast, instructing us where instruction was needed. And the only way the fish would get cleaned, was if we did it ourselves. You were not raising us to grow up not knowing how to take care of challenges even when they looked like messy fish.

Sometimes as we walked across the pier and its wooden planks, we would get splinters. Your kind caring hands and your calm voice coached us through getting the splinter out. Like the cleaning of the fish, we had to learn to fix the splinters in our lives that came our way.

It took time, maturity and reflection to realize the lessons given from the pier:

• Solitude is a well-deserved gift to yourself.
• When you fish, you clean the fish. Jobs are sometimes no fun, but we receive the rewards of the labor.
• It doesn’t take a lot of effort to enjoy a day.
• Life often only needs vivid sunshine, glistening water, sturdy pier, fishing pole, and positive attitude.
• Even when you have the basics of life there are still messy fish to be cleaned and prickly splinters that cause pain.
• A calm demeanor and perseverance are the sunshine on our souls.

With each sunrise, wave crashing upon the beach, and cast of the fishing rod, I received more lessons than I realized.

Until now.

Thanks, Dad for the many lessons.

Your mixed-up middle child, Carol