For Throwback Thursday -- first published in 2009

On the Beach with Charley

My son Charley must have been about 10 years of age of so when this happened. His sister, Andrea, was three years younger,  their cousin, Caitlin, two years younger than that.

At the time, my wyfe’s parents owned a time-share at Schooner’s Landing, just north of Newport, Oregon.

My wyfe’s parents, my wyfe and I, and the three above-mentioned children were all staying at the time-share. I don’t specifically remember, but it was normal on such occasions for my wyfe’s sister to visit for a couple of days.

Now my wyfe’s family, at the beach, indeed, whenever on holiday, they engage in certain activities. These activities include eating prodigiously, gossiping, reading tabloids and magazines,  reading novels, specifically those type of novels which are known in the book trade as “bodice rippers.”

I always seemed to be the “adult” tasked with the duty of taking the kids to the beach. I never saw such as a duty, though; I actually enjoyed taking the kids to the beach.

The beach in this case was less than 100 meters down a steep hill from Schooner’s Landing. We four, Charley, Andrea, Caitlin, and me, went down to the beach.

Andrea and Caitlin ran off, not too far, to play in and around some standing pools of water.

Charley and I wandered the sands within an area strewn with rocks, driftwood and such, looking for agates and flotsam and jetsam

I need to digest here a bit. My own father was himself a bit of a case. He did an excellent job of teaching my brother and I what was important to him and what he thought would be important to his sons. Things such as how to gut and skin a deer; how to rebuild a car engine; how to shoot; how to endure physical pain and discomfort, and emotional pain as well, without displaying any outward emotion –- without any emotion other than laughter, that is. Oh dear, have I said too much? Forgive me. I am told it’s one of my greatest faults –- saying just a bit too much.

Unfortunately, my father neglected to instruct my brother and I in one of the most important areas of life -– specifically, the reproductive process.

Ahem. So, as so often in my life, I was forced to accumulate experimental data in order to learn. The process of accumulating the data was so time consuming and painful; I resolved that my own children should never have to suffer as I.

So there on the beach, I sidled up to my son, Charley.



“Charley,” I said. “I wantcha to know, if you ever have any questions about anything, anything at all, you kin always ask yore Dad. Okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” replied Charley. “I know that.”

I continued: “No, really. I mean it. Any subject, no matter how embarrassing it might seem. You can talk to me. Unnerstand?”

“I know that, Dad.”

“No matter how awkward or nasty or private or embarrassing or whatever. About any subject. You know?”

Charley looked down at his feet, aimlessly brushed aside a small pile of sand with his boot. He seemed deep in thought.

He then looked up into the sky, then over to me.

“Actually Dad, there is one thing.”

All right, I thought. Now were gettin’ down to it. He’s gonna ask me about life, love, women, sex, whatever. And I can tell him what I’ve learned about such mysteries. I can tell him all the things I’ve learned through much trial and error; save him all the effort and pain.

“What is it, Son?”

“I asked all my friends,” said Charley. “They don’t know nothin’”

“An’ I tried to find stuff in the library at school. I Couldn’t find nothin’.”

“An’ I really want to know this, Dad. I really do.”

I reached out, patted Charley on his shoulder. “Go ahead, son. Ask me. I’m sure I got the answer you’re looking for.”

Charley looked up at me. Now there are some kids, you can look into their eyes and see the astuteness, the awareness. Charley’s always had that. I could also see the respect and the trust he had in his father. He knew I had the answers.

“Well, Dad,” asked Charley, “how do you build an atomic bomb?”

I’m still laughing, folks. It’s been almost 20 years, and I’m still laughing.






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