"Nice to meet you Anne," I say using one hand to shake while holding Che, our 8 month old on the Beach with me working on her Diaper Tan.
"That's the tannest baby I've ever seen," Anne admits. "My God that girl's got baby blues!"
"My tan's pretty good," I say but the words fly out unnoticed because Che's commands the attention.
"Micheal writes a blog every day," our mutual friend Martha continues the introduction.
The fact is I used to write a blog every day!
Every day for five years I churned out musings on life inside of my skin and, much to my delight, found people read them.
Then ... Che was born and now we take long walks together punctured with Ocean swims and time with Sarah and the girls at home.
I don't have time to write as much.
"He's also a minister," she keeps going.
Technically speaking it's true.
I'm an ordained Southern Baptist Minister and the Churched that ordained me went out of business and in the bizarro universe of Baptists only the congregation that ordained you can defrock you so I'm in for life and now I conduct services in a Bar on the island.
"And he used to do important stuff in town but I can't remember what it was. What was it Micheal?"
I don't recall as Che starts flapping her arms and kicking her legs signifying she's ready to get back to the waves.
This is Daddy time at the Beach and we have our routine.
"GIVE MY LOVE TO SARAH! I just love Sarah. We were together in Key West ..." and Martha continues talking as we make our way.
Her words, all true, fade in the distance.
I hold "now" and plop Che down in the surf and she squeals in delight ... uncaring if one knocks her over while Dad is watching Dolphins break the surface.
She just taps my foot spewing water out of her mouth, not so much wanting me to pick her up as to sit down and enjoy it with her.
So I do.
When she's ready, she crawls into my lap and flaps her arms.
"Does my baby girl want her Daddy to take her to the big waves?"
She buries her head in my chest and grins ... so I slowly pull my 61 year old body out of the wet sand and we make our way.
Che loves the big waves, wanting me to hold her so her face stares at the Ocean with her back to me. I've always heard the first step a child takes is away from you, symbolizing the rest of life. I can't help but ponder if our baby's going to sail away.
She cries when I put her back in the stroller.
"Oh come on," I exclaim. "Cut me some slack. I told your Mom we'd be back soon and that was an hour-and-a-half ago. She's going to be pissed."
Che grows quiet sucking on a piece of watermelon.
"She's not going to be pissed at you," I continue. "She's going to be pissed at me!"
Though Sarah won't be.
And we slowly make our way back to a future that's coming but, somehow ... I don't know how ... has already begun arriving.
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