Childhood and swimming

Childhood.
It is magical.
Swimming in +17°C water feels just like swimming in +27°C.

“Mom, I’m not cold yet!” — shout two grinning “seals,” trembling like little shivering sticks as they’re dragged onto the shore.
The record of “when are we going again?” stuck in their minds, mixed with shouts of delight as every second wave rolls in:
“Look, what a wall!!!”
Probably only characteristic of a certain age.

Today, once again standing in the sea and trying to grab my little one’s hand so the wave wouldn’t roll her up… I pause.
Because my gaze catches two women walking along the beach.
They move very slowly. One of them is very old. Not just old — extremely old.
She walks slowly, a thick jacket on her shoulders, a collar of a thick sweater peeking out.
Beside her, firmly holding her arm, is a grown woman, probably her granddaughter.

The elderly lady walks, eyes fixed on the sea, as if trying to take it all in, and when she sees the waves meeting my “seals” like walls, she smiles warmly.
On her wrinkled, life-worn face stretches a rainbow of a smile.
She says nothing, but her gaze seems full of childhood memories: “as if she were jumping in the waves just like that yesterday.”

After seeing this slowly passing old age along the beach, I let my restless childhood go wild as much as it wants.

Because I remembered something beautiful I heard just last night in a rather unpleasant situation.
While dining at our favorite seaside restaurant, Pa accidentally spilled a glass of juice brought to her table.
As we searched for napkins and tried to explain that one should be more careful…
An older waiter, whom we’ve known for years, rushed to help.
Quickly cleaning the spill and hastily replacing the tablecloth, he added:
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing. After all, they’re only children for such a short time.”

To childhood!
And to waves, like walls.

V.