This friend of mine,
Like me,
Grew up on Lake Erie
Albeit a different part
He wrote of the significance of the beach break wall
That he’d walk along as a child, teen, budding adult man-child
And how it was there when his life changed
As the turbulent, always shifting water would crash
He’d reflect how it was nice
To have someplace to catch all that strife
Where he could just sit and ruminate
Where I grew up
There were no break walls
Instead, we had long concrete piers
Although some of the waves would break upon them
Mostly they just showered the violent acquiescence all over you
You either stood there and took it
Or learned how to protect yourself
As an adult,
My friend went back to his break wall
After so many years of navigating his life
He found his comforting thinking spot
Was still there
Still blocking the shore from being dragged into the lake
He remarked how his journey had come so far
From that awkward, mumbling kid who sat upon it
And how much of himself was still there
Still him, but not the same
Our lake was always there
But never the same lake twice
I went back to my concrete piers too
But they were no longer there
The years of being battered had shattered them
Until the township had to give up
And broke them into pieces
It’s kinda funny
Or is it ironic?
What they built out of them
A break wall
Not as neat as my friend’s
Ragged chunks loosely stacked together
Built out of the broken pieces of everything I once stood upon
Fought against
As I stood, marveling at the sins of the past
My son took my hand
And asked what I was staring at
“Well, kid, this was once something much prettier,
Much different
But I think it’s better this way
It was worth it.”
So, I would ask my friend
What would happen if he went back to his break wall
And it was gone
Life and time change even the most stoic of institutions
The next generation will always see the same differently than we did
Will what comes next be worth the price?
Maybe there never was a break wall
It was just him
Standing there
Waiting for the future to take his hand
Oct 20, 2022
Oct 20, 2022 at 9:50 AM UTC
This friend of mine,
Like me,
Grew up on Lake Erie
Albeit a different part
He wrote of the significance of the beach break wall
That he’d walk along as a child, teen, budding adult man-child
And how it was there when his life changed
As the turbulent, always shifting water would crash
He’d reflect how it was nice
To have someplace to catch all that strife
Where he could just sit and ruminate
Where I grew up
There were no break walls
Instead, we had long concrete piers
Although some of the waves would break upon them
Mostly they just showered the violent acquiescence all over you
You either stood there and took it
Or learned how to protect yourself
As an adult,
My friend went back to his break wall
After so many years of navigating his life
He found his comforting thinking spot
Was still there
Still blocking the shore from being dragged into the lake
He remarked how his journey had come so far
From that awkward, mumbling kid who sat upon it
And how much of himself was still there
Still him, but not the same
Our lake was always there
But never the same lake twice
I went back to my concrete piers too
But they were no longer there
The years of being battered had shattered them
Until the township had to give up
And broke them into pieces
It’s kinda funny
Or is it ironic?
What they built out of them
A break wall
Not as neat as my friend’s
Ragged chunks loosely stacked together
Built out of the broken pieces of everything I once stood upon
Fought against
As I stood, marveling at the sins of the past
My son took my hand
And asked what I was staring at
“Well, kid, this was once something much prettier,
Much different
But I think it’s better this way
It was worth it.”
So, I would ask my friend
What would happen if he went back to his break wall
And it was gone
Life and time change even the most stoic of institutions
The next generation will always see the same differently than we did
Will what comes next be worth the price?
Maybe there never was a break wall
It was just him
Standing there
Waiting for the future to take his hand
