I guess it is really weird that kids have become such an important part of my life. When I was young and productive (the biological clock had not run down) I really was so busy chasing life that I had little time for children and had decided that I would not have any of my own. I was really lucky on that one. My husband has two children with his first wife, my wife-in-law. She is not only a marvelous mother, she is a marvelous friend. That all by itself would be enough to make for a good marriage and a good life.
Anyway, I have written from time to time about our boys. I call them my sons because we are such a close knit family that I really consider them mine, too. All that aside, I never gave birth to anything except a few misbegotten and half-baked ideas. Of course, with both the boys out of the house and on their own, both married, etc. kids seem to find their ways to my house — wherever I may be.
So, yesterday I noticed a few kids walking along the beach. It was rather obvious that they are “natives” to this area. You can always tell the locals from the tourists. Not that it makes any difference who they are or where they come from, it is still easy for this old lady to recognize one from another. It has something to do with how they dress and what they are doing. But, that’s another day.
After my lemonade tea party disbanded yesterday, I noticed a few young lads lingering on the beach in front of the house. They were horsing around, but kept a close eye on the house. I waved at them and they darted away. I had to laugh. All I could think of was growing up along the shore as I did. Just a few houses down from here, there was a very old lady who spent most of her time inside. Not that I am comparing the old woman of my childhood to Mrs. Hildebrand or anything, but there are similarities.
As a child, along with a few cousins and a few neighbor children, we would sneak past her house in the grey of early evening. I can remember hiding behind a sand dune to await her evening exit from the house onto the porch. She never stayed outside for too long, but she always came out and surveyed the beach as if she were expecting pirates to appear in the early evening. Of course, the best she ever saw was a bunch of mischievous kids, hiding, and fantasizing about her witches brew or a tourist child she may have tied up on the inside. Even when we called it a day and decided to leave the poor old woman to her own life, we always counted noses before leaving just as if she had mysteriously sent a ghost into our midst to snatch one of us.
Well, yesterday as the sun was moving to the west side of the island, I could not help but think that those young lads were making up similar stories about me. That is until one of the gathered the courage to yell, “Are you Miss Maya?”
As an aside, those of us who live in the south still have a few old customs that have not vanished with time. One is to call an older person “Mr.” or “Miss” and then his or her first name. That’s kind of a way of not being too formal, but still showing respect. I don’t know if that is something that is innate or not, but I do still catch myself speaking to people in those terms or referring to people in those terms. Well, a good example is Miss Bessie.
I acknowledged that I am “Miss Maya.” Apparently, the kids have very little interest in me except through my associations. You see, the next question was “Is your husband home so he can come out?”
Isn’t that the cutest? The kids were asking if a 61 — almost 62 — year old man could come out.
One of the older boys approached the foot of the steps, kicking sand with every step. “Miss Maya, my mama said Mr. Perretti was the smartest man on the beach. Can he come out here? We want to ask him about a star.”
Now, it goes without saying that my husband is quite smart — and that’s not just my opinion. In fact, I have said many, many times how lucky I am to have him for a husband. One of the reasons we still sit down around the dinner table in the evenings and have a full meal, just like “they” used to, is because I so enjoy the few hours we spent together talking over dinner. YES! I said “hours.” Imagine being married to a spouse who is still so interesting that everyday is a joy. Anyway, dinner and most evenings are the times we sit and talk about everything under the sun and some things beyond it.
I opened the screened door and asked my husband if he felt like coming out. He had a lot of company yesterday and was looking rather tired. Once he saw the kids, he was on the porch. The kids were a little baffled at first. “How are you going to come down here?” The wheelchair is not made for going down steps onto the beach.
“Why don’t you young men come up here for today?” The porch filled. I swear to you, some were hiding behind a sand dune or two.
It was close to 10:00 when the last of the young ones left. And, yes, they all stayed for dinner — after phoning home for permission.
My husband slept until noon today. When I finally got him up, he announced that “they” had decided to come back today — later this afternoon — to get all kinds of wireless stuff hooked up so they can work on the screened in porch rather than track sand all through the house. Well, hell! We live at the beach. There is always going to be sand. Anyway, it looks as if the good kids of the neighborhood are coming back today to help my husband get the wireless stuff going and he is going to teach them about stars, wormholes (not fishing worms) and black holes. We could not be in a better place for looking at the night sky.
Well, it looks like there are good kids with eager minds everywhere. That’s a good thing. And, as I get older I am more and more thankful for children with such inquisitive minds.
