Thanks to a retirement gift from a generous school parent, I had the great pleasure of spending some quality time with my youngest daughter Talia. Just the two of us, a rare happening. We hiked, cooked, put together a 500-piece puzzle, played Boggle, sat under the stars in a hot tub, planned her classes and discussed my next book project. On our last morning, we went down to the beach for each of us to write a little something and then share back with the other. And here was my piece:
Walking with my daughter—her 36, me 69—on a California beach
in February. Blue sky, sun-warmed air, makes a dip
in the ocean seem tantalizing. We challenge each other
to jump in, throw down the childhood gauntlet of
“I dare you! I double dare you!”
In my younger days, I would have to prove my bravado.
The world has thrown out its fair measure of double-dog-dares and
sometimes foolishly, sometimes wisely,
I have responded. Plunged
into the icy waters of some task far beyond
my comfort, far beyond my capability. Came out
shivering, but proud, skin tingling, spirit refreshed.
So here I am again at the water’s edge,
Pants rolled up, the frigid wintry water
tickling my toes. A wave breaks
and it rises to my ankles.
It is enough.