A Good Chuckle

A Good Chuckle

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Sand Castle - A Week At The Beach Series

"Whoa, awesome sand castle Dad!" Said none of my kids ever. My knowledge and skill with building sand castles begins and ends with the ingredients - sand, water, a shovel, and buckets. I am Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor in the sand castle world. 

There are some people who show up at the beach with a backpack of sand castle crafting goodies and deliver awe-inspiring results - castles as great as any of the mightiest kingdoms throughout history. I, on the other hand, show up with dollar store buckets, two plastic shovels, a buzz and a dream. 

"Why do we even need a moat Daddy? I think that may be a little much," my oldest daughter says to me as she finishes up what will soon be the northeast corner of the castle. Building a sand castle is always her idea. If it were up to my son, the activity would resemble what he is presently doing - running towards the ocean, calling it names ("The Ocean's a Dopey! The Ocean's a Dopey!"), and running away from the waves as they attempt to restore honor to the ocean whose great name was just sullied on it's very own shore!

"Well Sweety, we have to defend ourselves from the barbarians somehow," I reply, "and I am not sure if we can make any catapults with the resources we have available to us right now!" 

"Will the moat protect us from crabs?" Her concern, though based on a ludicrous fear of crabs, is much more realistic than my concept of defending against barbarians. Or is it?

"It sure will. Unless they are barbarian crabs," I reply and we both laugh.

Taking a look at our work, I am impressed! Now that my daughter is 5 years old, she has turned my years of disaster into a how-to-not-do-it and overcome the genetic disposition to fail at sand castles. What she has expertly crafted is no less than one of the brilliant creations I spoke of earlier. A castle fit for a princess with a moat to protect her city.

"Can we raise an army Daddy? With knights and wizards? And I can be the princess!" Joy escapes her through giggles and a smile brighter than the sun we are baking in.

Unable to restrain my laughter, I am filled with that special pride you get as a parent when you see something in your child that you know, without a doubt, is your own fault (sorry I am such a dork Honey). I continue, "We sure can! Can you find anybody you would want to be in your army? Maybe some of your cousins?"

She begins to survey the beach. All sorts of body sizes, shapes, and colors are performing various beach activities all around us and I am very curious how she will choose her conscriptions. 

This momentary pause in conversation is interupted by the utmost pandemonium; my son the barbarian charges the castle, sunlight as war paint on his face, and he kicks right through it, screaming.

Caught totally off guard by the attack I had no time to protect my eyes and thus ended up temporarily blinded by castle debris. I reach out for where a towel should be and find one, wipe my face off and squint through the pain. My daughter, much to my astonishment, is NOT crying. She is, however, glaring at me unsympathetic to my plight.

"Your moat didn't work Daddy."

I guess next year we'll build a catapult. 

In The Woods Entertainment
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