Ode to Seaglass

While I dig for seaglass on the beach in Capri, a figure approaches me. A little boy, maybe about nine years old. Little Boy gives me a questioning glance, kneels down, and digs in my sand hole. The kid in me silently shrieks. That’s my seaglass-finding-hole, Little Boy! Who are you?

He sweats and labors over his mountain of sand, carefully sifting with his delicate fingers. I grow comfortable with his silent presence. Suddenly, he gasps, breaking into a wide smile.

Little Boy excitedly shows me his shiny, beautiful new seaglass find. I smile back. He looks at his glass, looks at me, and reaches out his hand.

“You keep it!” I encourage him. But Little Boy holds out his hand again. I accept.

Little Boy sits with me for over a half hour, as his dad wades nearby. We slowly learn more about each other.

“Abiti qui?” I ask. Do you live here?

“No. A Napoli.” No, he lives in Naples.

“I miei nonni sono di vicino a Napoli. Avellino.” I tell him that my grandparents are from nearby Naples. Avellino. He smiles again.

His father gives me a look. I think it’s a look of appreciation. Where is his mom? Brothers and sisters? I never find out. Today, it is just the two of them.

“Un castello!” Little Boy points to his newly sculptured sand mountain. It’s a castle. I proceed to show him the sandcastle-building techniques my dad showed me on my Cape Cod beaches so many summers ago. First, you dig a moat. Then, you take all the sand you dug and pile it in the middle. Then come the towers. Sometimes, we’d even stick hermit crabs, snails, and seaweed in the moat for effect.

Giallo! Yellow! He’s still at it with the seaglass. A small rainbow in his hand. His excitement is infectious. Seaglass-hunting turns into a game.

Are you married? He asks me. No Little Boy, I’m not quite there yet.

“Ale! Andiamo!” Little Boy’s name is Alessandro. His dad, who had joined in our hunt, summons him. But Little Boy has another question. Where am I from? “Stati Uniti!” I reply. He looks at his dad. His dad clarifies. “America.” Little Boy’s eyes light up. Oooo, America. Some faraway land. Yes Little Boy, I am from far away. But people like you make my journey priceless.

With one last wave, Little Boy and Dad are on their way. I already miss him. I have never doubted the innocent, pure beauty that young children spread through the world.

Dear Little Boy, you made my day. You reminded me of the joy that comes from the seemingly simple moments of life. We are all connected. Language and geography aside, we are all cut from the same cord. We crave contact, friendship, and shared experiences. We have a common goal of happiness. Little Boy, thank you for that reminder. You will probably not remember me in the coming days, weeks, or months.

But I’ll sure remember you.