I marvel at so much about you. I guess, as your father, that is part of my role. But I must say it goes beyond that because I am pretty objective when it comes to my own, perhaps even coming down on the side of being too critical. Yet with you, I am in awe constantly. At this moment, it was your stillness, your appreciation of the vastness before you which had silenced your seemingly endless verbalizing and arrested your near-constant movement. The ocean has lured you since before your first birthday, your brown eyes fixed on the push and pull of the water. Your ability to lock onto the tidal pulse of the sea, to find synchronicity with that most ancient of rhythms, is what I’ll always remember about these early visits. That and how you were so very still, suddenly. As if you found home. As if you’d found yourself.
