Sandcastles & Scrapping

In 1979, we lived in a very small town on the gulf coast of Mississippi. Our town was small, yet festive. We had one gas station, a grocery store no bigger than a 7-11 and a police department that consisted of 2 men & one woman. There were no casinos, bowling allies or movie theatres, but we did have annual festivities...the Blessing of the Fleet, Mardi Gras, the Crawfish Festival & more.

These events were very important, perhaps more important there than in other larger communities where the citizens had more entertainment on a daily basis. One of these events was the Annual Sand-Sculpture Contest. It was an all day event...beginning at 8am and ending promptly at 5. I can't recall how many contestants there were, but the usually desolate beach was packed with each group assigned to a 20' x 20' section of sand.My brother, a year and a half my senior, and I were contestants.

We got to the beach when the wind was still cold and the water freezing. We lugged 5 gallon buckets, shovels, forks, picks and knives to our little plot in the sand. We worked with increasing franticness throughout the morning. At lunch time, we were able to walk around & enjoy the eye candy of everyone else's creations. It was amazing spectacle.... mermaids, ships, lobster, gnomes, houses and more... all built of sand.

After lunch, my brother felt somewhat already defeated. The other sandcastles seemed to be so detailed and grand compared to our massive mound of sand, true. But we, still had a wonderful fondation and were left only with the details that would make our castle 'pop.' So, I took to one side and he took to the other....slicing, carving, smoothing & shaping.

'Damn it!' was the first profanity I heard from the other side of our mound. I asked 'What is it?' The mumbled words held a warning for me....'Nothing! Just shut up.' Ut-oh... young teen-age boy testosterone kicking in on the other side, I shut up. A few minutes passed and I could hear more... 'Stupid peice of sh-t.' Ut-oh, he's wearing thin. I said not a word. Then I heard the caravan of every word our Mother had told us to never use... they rolled off of his tongue and into te air like a tsunami. I walked over to his side to see what the problem was. A small section of the castle kept collapsing. He warned me, 'Don't say a word, I know it sucks! We're gonna lose!'

I smiled (mistake) and said, 'It'll be ok...we can fix it!' Boom! Trigger was tripped, the levy was broke & the profanities flew. I shut up. When he seemed to calm down a bit, sitting on his upturned 5 gallon bucket, I ventured to speak again. 'Maybe some more water in the sand will help.' He looked at me and sighed in defeat, 'Yeah, maybe. I'll get it, I'm just taking a break.' Ok, cool. I ventured back to my side...packing & poking my sand.

I saw my brother walk to the water with his bucket/stool in hand. He filled it with water & came back. Another labored sigh and 'Ok, I can do this.' I let him be, not saying a word. He could do it, I just knew it. He had been stressed & just needed a little bit of peace. Hopefully, the break and the absence of my voice were his tickets to peace.

Moments later, the motherload of profanities flew through the air. A hurricane in our little section of the sand. Water flying upwards, downwards & sideways. Sand being blasted, smashed & our castle trashed. A 5 gallon bucket of water had been slung onto the face of our sculpture. I had rose to my feet just in time to have sandy water splatter into my face. I paced maybe a step or two when I saw the bucket get thrown into the remains of our melting castle. A pace later, I could see his leg & foot maliciously kicking the remains of our sculpture.

That's when it happened. The storm in me had been aroused. I jumped onto my sibling like an angry hornet attacking someone who had intruded their nest. We were rolling in the sand, fists and feet flailing. Whack! Bam! Crack! I felt it. I heard it. I did not immediately see it.

In the flurry of sand and elbows, in a rage of munts, grunts and occassional profanities the sun disappeared from my sky, the sound of the waves & the wind had ceased. Whack! Crack! Bam! echoed in my head and on my back through all of our munting & grunting & heaving of air.

Then I saw him. A little old man. Bent knees. Dark gray hair gone wild. Cane in hand, but not on the ground. 'Damn Shame!'

I froze. His cane was once again over his head & he was ready to pelt me again. He said, 'Where's your mother?! You children should be ashamed!' Once again, I said nothing. I looked around, scanning the masses for our mother. Still spitting sand out of my mouth & collapsed on top of my brother, I scanned the masses for our Mother.

I saw her. She was about 5 castles away, backside to us... walking away. I called for her. She didn't flinch. I yelled loudly for her, she kept walking away.

The old man, cane still overhead, said 'Get up you shameful little varmit!' Where's your mother.' I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away & gaining speed. I told him, 'I'm sorry. Your'e right. We should be ashamed & I am ashamed. I'm sorry. Would you please lower your cane?'

Humpft! 'Where's your mother.'
I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away, backside still to us. 'Our mother didn't come out today'