Snapshots of Growth

My toes curled in the hot sand 

as the waves harmonized their crashes. 

The race to create a magnificent drippy castle was underway.

With a humorous amount of concentration,

my cousins mixed the perfect amount of salty sea water and dry sand. 

As the concocted concrete slid down their sticky popsicle hands, 

they motioned me to participate like I usually do.  

But this time the thought of being coated in sand,

kneeling in front of an embarrassingly well-made drippy castle,

was met by an overwhelming wash of disgust and disinterest.

I settled for safety net of a chair and the music of the ocean.

The pattering of feet and boom of "Dinner!" echoed down the stairwell,

while the aroma of grilled corn and BBQ awoke me from my dreamless nap.

Watching dinner being served is like previewing a rehearsal for a play.

In unison, everyone whimsically lifts their plates,

and twists and turns until they reach the buffet of food.

As I began to mimic their steps,

My face reddened, half in embarrassment - half in anger.

Though I hoped, prayed even, my plate did not reside at the adults table.

I am not sure why I rejected being a part of the kids table.

It was my habitat for many years before,

but it lost its charm, its luster, its thrill.

I desired to be at the table where deep conversations happened,

adult jokes were told, and the trials of work were discussed.

Now, I regret leaving that safe haven,

but back then it looked more like torturous hell.