staying close to shore

My mother took this photograph last weekend and I absolutely love it.  You can barely see us other than as near-silhouettes but the sun and the water steal the scene.  Elle and I were having much better luck with the waves on Sunday morning than we’d had on Saturday evening. Not being much of a swimmer (translation: I drown quickly), I always hesitate to walk out too far.  There is a sense of security, and perhaps it’s false, that I have when I’m attached to a floating board of some kind, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that I freak out when I can’t touch the bottom of the ocean.  Also, sharks are hungry.

My kid is the exact opposite of me, except she’s not much of a swimmer, either. That the two of us even venture into the ocean’s mysterious depths of three whole feet is astounding.  Or rather, that I even allow my one and only child to venture out that far is astounding.  Elle, on the other hand, believes she is a mermaid and would much prefer to be splashing it up way out there where the cruise ships and Navy frigates appear on the horizon.

She will straight up tell you this as she struggles to stay above water in the swimming pool for more than 8 seconds, treading water in such a manner that you’d think she was riding some kind of epileptic sea horse that couldn’t stop thrashing around.  Oh, and she has to wear her goggles. God forbid she gets water up her nose.

So, you see why I don’t let her go past her thighs?

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About Dena

I'm a suburban Clevelander by way of Oklahoma City, by way of North Florida, by way of Southern Maryland, by way of Upper Michigan, by way of Northern Italy, by way of Lower Michigan, by way of Texas. Because of living in so many places, I have something in common with almost everyone I meet. I love reading, writing, and American history (especially reading or writing about American history). I'm interested in culture of place, historical trauma, and writing about the kinds of histories most people don't know about.
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