04-06-16 Beach Colt

Saturday 4th June 2016
Goodness me what a spirited colt you are tonight at the beach, Dorôtheos. There is no stopping you, or slowing you down. You rampage through a random array of beach-going groups destroying their neatly laid out towels, beach chairs and bags. Any and all colourful toys you deem your property and thus impose your right to use and discard them at will. Some children are scared of you, others avoid you, one laughs at your crazy behaviour, and a few refuse you their toys and seemingly in retaliation, you stomp over, through and into their sand built structures. Greatly put out kids rush to their parents in complaint at how you have destroyed this tower or jumped into that carefully dug out hole. Nonchalantly you follow these kids, spot their treasure chests of beach toys usually within one of those huge beach bags, and dive right in. That yellow ball is to be kicked! Why leave it in there?? You seem to ‘get’ how this kid or that is either mean spirited or just plain does not want your company.

My role oscillates between saving you from yourself, and attempting to explain to parents how you are just two years of age yet look older, and that all you want is their child’s company. In the main these parents are great, after I clock eyes with them and plead my case that Dorôtheos is a good kid…but then you throws a hefty rock missing a human’s head by centimeters. Other punters are totally thrilled by your action! Young people playing racket ball cheer you on as you run at high speed, pick pocketing a tennis ball from a family’s bag, racing to the sea shore, and hurling the ball in. Part of me is so proud that you stand above all other kids. Part of me wants you to relax, slow down, blend in. Part of me wants to grab your arm, twist your ear, and make you STOP IN YOIR TRACKS.

I am a nervous wreck, literally following you everywhere lest you drown, or inadvertently start a disagreement with another little person, or shove a smaller kid into the sand, or traipse over another family’s picnic. And I only wish for you to enjoy the beach as the sun goes down. For main beach Saronîtha is filled with families, and you seek company, yet come across with speed and agility, strength and energy level that belie your two years.

By evening’s end you manage to play reasonably well with five year old Manos, both of you filling a pail with sand using his spades. Only moments before the scene was chaotic, as another little boy, Adonis, was here- Manos’ best friend. Clearly there is no room for a third boy. But once Adonis leaves, Manos calms down, and on the encouragement of his parents, invites you to play along side of him. I sit on the sand a couple of meters away from you both watching with my heart in my throat, willing your sweet gentle nature to shine through. Manos gets to like you once he has you to himself. And I am calm once more.

We leave the beach with no protests (since Manos himself is about to leave too) and once we have reached the crossing, you tell me how ‘Manos eîne kalós’ (Manos is good), and that you have enjoyed the beach today. Bless you, darling. And I am glad. But Mummá need a Xanax.

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