A few years back, I forget how many, but not that long ago, I was visiting my son, Kris, and his family. We woke to one of those glorious Seattle days, so Kris decided we should go to the beach.

After a ferry ride to Whidbey Island and a short drive, we stopped at a shorefront park and clambered through sand and over logs that had washed ashore during who knows how many storms. 

Of course running and jumping through, over, and onto this debris was great fun for Finn and Montana. Who knew what great treasures were to be found by imaginative and adventurous spirits among this horizontal forest?

Once on the beach, it was sunbathing, reading, searching the flotsam left by the last high tide, and simply relaxing and inventing familiar shapes in the few clouds overhead.

Whack! Whack! The sharp sound of Finn using a stick for a bat to hit rocks pitched to him by Kris was familiar. I remember moments like this when both Kris and I were much younger and took time to play. I miss those times, and as soon as Finn and Montana mature and start their own lives, so will Kris. 

It seems as I grow older something triggers memories of times with all three of my children and leaves me with waves of longing.

Ken Kaiyala
11-15-2017