The daughter of the beach

The summer was particularly long this year. It ended with September, and temperatures are predicted to rise again towards the beginning of October. The second, really dry part of the summer was wonderful for swimming and for hanging out by the river. We went almost daily. The only child that was there reliably was a little girl. She is a year younger than James, and looks a bit like him. At two, she is stunningly beautiful with long blond hair and very talkative. She knew everyone on the beach -- each person, and each dog -- and talked to every person who came. An old couple called her the daughter of the beach, and the name stuck with me.

Since there were, generally, no other children to play with she would come talk to the adults. She knew their professions, and many fed her from whatever food they brought for themselves. She picked and chose from the food as any well-cared for child, but she loved the attention. She was particularly fond of James as the only other child close enough in age to play with. She taught him to put away his clothes and toys. How? James left his clothes on the grass as usual, and once when he returned after a walk with Andy, David and Edward she was wearing his clothes and playing with his toy plane. Since then, James put his clothes back in the car after he undressed, and carefully put away his toys. When asked why, he clearly explained it was so that she would not have them. She had plenty of toys herself.

She came to the beach with her father -- a former kick box champion, who is about fourty, and two of his friends, who are young men in their twenties. He loves her, and lets her be herself. They often swim along the river together and she sits on his shoulders. Sometimes her grandma comes along. She is a retired nurse.

Last year this little girl had a mother. She was not following other people along back then -- but still liked us because of James. The mom is a stunning young woman in her early twenties; one of the most beautiful women I had seen to date. They came to the river all summer. Sometimes the grandmother would come along, and towards the end the grandmother stopped getting along with the young woman and the son took his mother's side. The young woman stopped showing up.

This year they separated. The father proudly tells me he has full custody of the child, and assures me the child no longer remebers her mother because she is only two and too young to know. When asked where her mom is by one of the old people on the beach, the daugther of the beach answers that her mom is home sick. He explains that mom offered to drop all charges in exchange for visitation rights, but he insisted on a full win where he is entitled to call the police if the mom comes near her child. He justifies his choice by saying that if he sees her, he might hit her again.

The feminist in me shudders. This story is a reminder that money and power still matter more than any other aspects, and also that things are not always black and white. It could be worse. The child is healthy. She is tanned, runs about all day on the river bed surrounded by a community who loves her and seems happy. It would be better for her if her parents were together and got along, but it's unclear what seeing her mom now and then + more fights would do.

The previous daugthers of the beach were the twins who showed up once this year when their phones were taken away from them. They have two parents and are also blond and very pretty. Given the problems that we have with David and his phone, I sometimes wonder if we are often bound to lose our children early, sometimes to a partner, other times to technology and often to a world that does not appreciate our effort in raising them.