It's either a school group or a church group of teenagers. There are fifteen and maybe three who are adults.
They're wearing shorts and all are wearing sweatshirts; some are emblazoned with NEBRASKA across the upper third.
As they get closer to the water, a few break away. One girl can't hold back and pushes pass the rest--it is clear she wants to be first--not necessarily because she is competitive, but because she can't hold back. She's found a soulmate: the ocean.
She splashes without reserve into the receding surf. However, she doesn't last long, but her smile stays noble.
"Is it cold?" the others ask.
"It's freezing!"
She alone has the honor of knowing before anyone else.
A few others join her and they too squeal the moment their feet touch the salty punch bowl filled with ice cubes.
Above the water, the adults in long pants hang back, but they are still exuberant--for they are the chaperones. The brave ones who traveled to show the kids the sea.
There is something about this group, and their NEBRASKA sweatshirts, that makes it seem like this is their first time on the Pacific Coast. The first time sticking their toes in the cold, cold water. And there is something about firsts and something about the ocean.
We once broke our family rule of bringing along boyfriends on family vacations; but this boy had never seen the ocean and I couldn't stand that he hadn't. It seemed an injustice to have never seen the ocean when we live in a world made of water. Beautiful water.
So, we paid for his ticket and his hotel room and hauled him to the beach like another suitcase.
Their courtship was short--of course. Our daughter was sixteen and he was seventeen. I never think of him except when I see another teenager who is probably seeing the sea for his first time. I will never regret bringing him a long, for sharing beauty he had yet to see.
I hope he looks back upon his experience as fondly as I remember mine.
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