Build or Be Destroyed

“Was it worth the risk?” asked the boy who sat with his father on their paint-chipped porch swing.

It was a crisp autumn morning and the boy had moved closer to his father to keep him warm. With one hand holding coffee and the other his son, “love builds” the man thought. At the same time, they could each feel the cool breeze creeping around them, blowing their words into space, syncing the years between them. Above the creeks in the porch swing and their early-morning chatter, the waves were breathing. Listen. Listen. 

They sat outside a simple home, quaint on the outside with deep brown siding, a red door, and wild grasses that hid the little trails of children leading to the sea. Inside, crayons had been scattered under second-hand dressers and picture-frames collected more dust than rugs did shoes. You could hear tiny laughter; the sound of children running up and down the stairs. Sometimes a grown-up would chase them. Those were the best days. In the distance, an untuned violin played. The sink ran. A phone rang. The windows had been left open and above the noise, the breeze blew in the smell of the sea. And there was dancing. Always dancing because it was a house of music.

“Dad,” said the boy, “I’m scared. What if a wave knocks down our house?”

The man smiled and closed his eyes: “Child, would you prefer a picket-fence?”

The boy squished his face to think. Silently, he spoke: “I don’t know.”

“Yes,” said the father, “you do. Build your home beside the ocean and it could be destroyed. Assume that it will. Do not tend to it. Do not dance in it. Better yet, do not build a home at all. Sit on the sand free of cares, and when a wave comes, run away without a loss. Or so the blind believe.”

There was a pause and the breeze returned: crisp, creeping, filling the void. The young boy looked past his father and attended the waves. Listen. Listen.

“My son, there are two ways to see.” Then the man turned toward the child and with his fingers, placed them under the boy’s chin, tilting his head upward so that their eyes could meet. “Little one,” he spoke slowly, “Will you doubt or will you trust? Love builds, and what you build in love cannot be destroyed. Those who face the sea homeless have nothing to lose because they have already lost everything. By hiding from the waves, they drowned on the shores. They built nothing and so became nothing. But I built. I was here.”

The man put down his coffee to embrace his son completely.

“Who would I be if I didn't take this risk?” he whispered.

“A man afraid of the ocean?” the young boy asked timidly.

“No,” said the father, “I would be a shrimp afraid of the ocean. But a man? Never.” 

And the breeze blew his words into the cosmos. Listen. Listen.