*Posted on the eve of the 7th anniversary of my father's passing, and in his honor
My wife and I headed to the beach this past weekend. It had been
ages since we enjoyed the smell of rolling waves, and left our fading
footprints on the seashore.
As a
military retiree I have base privileges, and we rented an apartment at Patrick
Air Force Base. One day Jean and I drove over to the beach, set up our umbrella
and “went in for a dip.”
Though
spring had not yet given way to summer, and the water was a bit cold, we braved
the chill and dove head first into the surf. While my body emitted an involuntary
“brrrr”!!!, the initial shock was soon forgotten, and we frolicked, (as much as
an old guy and gal can frolic) in the waves for an hour.
Having
finished our swim, we walked back to our beach chairs, and settled in for the
duration of a rapidly receding afternoon.
And
then it happened.
Suddenly,
I cast my eyes towards the surf, and “lo, and behold” I noticed the most
peculiar figure standing barefoot in three inches of salt water; looking
longingly towards the east.
“Isham,”
(for lack of a more appropriate identifier) appeared to be thirty years of age,
of average build and height, wearing a dark t-shirt, and a tan… kilt.
In my
almost 2/3 of a century of life on this planet, and having visited the beaches
of Florida multiplied times throughout the years, I have NEVER witnessed a man,
for all intents and purposes, wearing a dress. (A male dress to be sure).
The
beach and its age-old familiar flavor lost something of its allure for a while,
as Jean and I studied the man in the kilt. Oddly, he never moved, not for the
longest time, but continued to stare out over the azure, churning waters which
ebbed and flowed around his ankles.
And
while his wife, (or girlfriend) seemed to pick up wayward shells, and rambled
to and fro, Isham never moved, nor even turned to notice if she was within a
hundred miles.
A
young man wearing a kilt standing in ankle-deep water on an Atlantic beach; his
eyes fixed on some invisible, (at least to me) image which begged to be found
out.
And
suddenly, my mind, no, my spirit made some sort of ethereal association between
the present time, and a time which had long since “gone by the way.”
For
you see, there was another young man, (don’t you know) who once stood on a very
similar beach, and who so much like our own young man in the kilt, cast his
eyes towards the east; remembering a place from whence he came, and to which he
would never return.
For
you see, this original Isham was my ancient Scottish grandfather, a man who
having left his beloved homeland behind, loved and embraced his adopted
country, and who served that budding nation throughout the course of the
American Revolution.
A
momentary, but compelling association. Two men on the beach wearing… kilts. One
who has long-since gone on to his reward. One who stands in his place, and
beckons one such as me to…
Remember.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
If you would like to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above
No comments:
Post a Comment