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A View from the Ridge
The Dune
by Ridgely Goldsborough
The boy ran and ran and ran.
Behind him, the man walked steadily, absorbed
in thought, down the desolate stretch of beach that led to the tall dune.
“C’mon, Daddy,” cried the
boy and kept running.
The boy tested his limits and periodically fell, crashing into the sand on his head or his shoulders.
The
man said nothing, pretended to ignore him, knowing that to acknowledge the plight would invite the tears.
The boy picked
himself up, brushed off a few grains and set out again, charging along the shore.
The man did not lack compassion.
If anything, he felt too much, carried far more weight than he needed, his own inner struggle with penance and the difficulty
in drawing the line between responsibility and guilt for past transgressions.
He had tasted many failures, sat often
at the table of sorrow and drank from the bitter cup of disappointment that left an acrid, sickly grumbling in the pit of
his stomach.
He tried, though not always successfully, to take the lesson with him from each experience.
Often,
there was nothing else left.
In his son, the man saw the future.
He determined to let the boy learn on his own,
to forge his own strength of character one small challenge at a time, to gain confidence that the number of falls mattered
little, that he could always rise and begin again.
Stoic, the man looked straight ahead and refused to let himself
meet the boy’s eyes after each tumble.
They reached the dune. The boy scuttled up its side like a crab, as fast
as he could.
The man plodded to the top and squatted.
He watched the boy perform multiple antics, leaping down the dune like
a goat and hurdling himself down the steepest parts onto his stomach in an effort to become a human surfboard.
Over
and over, the boy reached the bottom and returned for another round, trying new moves and manoeuvres.
The man encouraged
him and praised his efforts regardless of outcome.
What could he do to give his boy the best chance?
How could
he help the most without getting in the way, without being over-protective yet also without ignoring the need for nurturing,
kindness and compassion?
The man pondered this at great length. As usual, he drew few conclusions, only a yearning
to do his part as a steward.
Though he could conceive of nothing more important, he tempered his desire to interfere
and tinker with the slow and gradual process. He bit his tongue and dug for patience—a virtue that eluded him even though
he understood its value and fought within himself to bring it forth.
He would step aside but not very far.
The
boy discovered a fresh trick.
He rolled sideways off the upper ridge and gathered steam on the way down, faster and
faster, until his legs became tangled. At peak speed he lost his angle and buried his cheeks into the sand.
The boy
glanced up, his face full of grief, the pivotal moment before his eyes welled up and the sobs burst out.
The man had
already glanced away, cast his gaze across the water and feigned unawareness.
The boy spit, brushed his forehead with
the back of his hand, shook his hair and spent a few seconds checking in with himself.
He frowned then began to climb.
In
stillness, the man smiled.
That’s A View from the Ridge . . .
(Note: Ridgely lost his home and office due to a full frontal assault from
hurricane Ivan as part of the four hurricanes that devastated Florida in what now has been labelled the worse natural disaster
in recorded history. A 30-foot surge hit his building like a tidal wave and destroyed it. What's left will be bulldozed to
the ground. After a brief hiatus to collect himself and his family, he has again begun to write.)
Author Ridgely
Goldsborough publishes The Daily Column; humorous and inspirational stories designed to touch our hearts. Please take
a moment to subscribe at no charge at www.aviewfromtheridge.com.
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Giv'er Atlantic Canada!
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