Beech Tree News Network

Last week, we traveled to Orange Beach on vacation.  Our daughter, Nikki, and her husband, Thomas, met us there for a few days.  They live north of New Orleans, and Mobile, Alabama is a lot closer for them than Morgantown, Kentucky.  Garey and I mostly walked on the beach.  We are no longer lie-in-the-sun people, but late one afternoon, we took our place on some beach chairs about eight feet away from two families vacationing together.  Nikki and Thomas were walking, and we were waiting for them to return so we could all go out for dinner together.

                I watched as a little boy from one family and a little girl from the other family were playing together along the shore line.  A couple of older kids were getting ready to leave the beach, so they gave their boogie board to the smaller children.  They came running over to their parents to tell them of the teens’ generosity. 

                “Did you thank them?” the little boy’s dad asked.

                As the little boy ran to thank the teens, the little girl took the boogie board out into the waves.  When the little boy returned, and asked for his turn on the board, the little girl ignored him.  She kept the board far enough from the shore line to deny him access.

                The little boy kept returning to his father, who was sprawled out on a beach chair, not far from mine, begging his dad to please intervene, but the father just ignored him.  The situation was quickly getting under my skin, and I had just swung my legs over the edge of my beach chair when Nikki and Thomas returned from their walk.  Nikki could tell by the look in my eye that I was on a mission.

                “What’s up?” Nikki asked.

                In hushed tones, I explained the situation then told her I was going to tell that dad what was going on with the little girl from the other family.

                “Mom, he isn’t going to listen,” Nikki cautioned.  “He’s just going to get offended.”

                “Ms. Cheryl, you’ve raised your children.  It’s time for you to have a break,” Thomas said.

                I didn’t want to, but I sat back down.  A few minutes later, the two families gathered their things and left the beach.

                “Mom, don’t worry about that little boy,” Nikki said, “He’ll probably just grow up to be a serial killer.”  (Nikki can always make me laugh.)

                The two families had been set up near the public beach entrance, so I didn’t expect to see them there the next day.  There they were, however, both families set up in the same spot.  The little boy was riding the waves on the boogie board the teens had given him, the little girl on a new boogie board, probably purchased by her family.  The universe had set itself aright without my intervention. 

                I have always been too ready to get into the middle of situations that are none of my business, and the situations usually have to do with kids or dogs.  On the job at New Image, when Dillon sees me worried or confused or ruffled over a situation or over something someone has said, he will catch my eye and say, “Just go with it, Cheryl.”  I understand what he is saying: If it’s not life-threatening to me or anyone around me—and this includes dogs—I need to let it go. 

                I usually do.  Just make sure you don’t mistreat a kid or a dog in my presence, because more than likely, I’ll stage an intervention.