Beach Games

My sons discovered a new beach game yesterday.

We were out playing on the beach, when suddenly, they were gone. One second they were right in front of my eyes, and the next second they were gone. See where they went?

 

The boys found a large hole dug in the sand by some previous beach-goers, and they decided to play what they described as “ninjas with sticks outsmart fighters with guns.” I’m sort of unclear as to the exact identity of the fighters, other then that they were clearly nefarious people, based on my sons’ facial expressions when describing them.

 

The hole became a foxhole of sorts, and my ninjas reportedly used the foxhole to hide and then steal the fighters’ guns. It was an absorbing game, one I was sorry to interrupt for dinner. I am curious as to whether they’ll play it again, because digging the hole the next time around will require a time commitment and effort from my oldest son who is, he solemnly tells me, allergic to chores and basically all forms of work.

My daughter, on the other hand, plays a game she calls “Tent.” She uses a beach chair as a tent to “hide” herself from us. It’s a great deal of fun for her. That is, until she gets stuck and insists on getting out by herself.

 

Then, it’s a great deal of fun for the rest of us.

My favorite game that my oldest son used to play was called “Shark Catcher.” When he was about 3 or 4 years old, he would run into the ocean and lunge around pretending to be a shark catcher.

“When I grow up, I want to be a shark catcher,” he proudly informed me one day.

“You don’t want to be a race car driver anymore?” I asked.

“Well, maybe, but I also want to be a shark catcher.”

“Why do you want to catch sharks?”

“So they don’t eat me.”

“Honey, sharks really aren’t usually out there trying to eat you.”

He laughed like I had just said something ridiculous, like “Chocolate doesn’t taste good!” or some other completely and utterly nonsensical statement.

“Have you heard of anyone being a shark catcher before?” I was trying to figure out where he was getting his information.

The little wheels turned several times. “No.”

“So, how do you know a job like that exists?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in other words, how do you know anyone’s going to pay you money to be a shark catcher?”

He looked at me like I was nuts. “Well, wouldn’t you rather pay a dollar than be eaten by a shark?”

Well, yes, I guess I would. Good point.

“So, once you catch the shark, what do you do with it?” I asked him.

He just stared at me for a long time. Then he laughed. Then he ran back into the ocean.

To catch sharks, of course.