Aren't sandcastles made for destruction? Anne Wilson shared this affecting summertime snapshot with us... At seventy-five, my father was on his knees on the beach, sculpting a perfect little sand steam engine. I have a lovely photo of that moment; my dad with his trousers rolled above his knees and his head covered with a knotted handkerchief thoroughly enjoying his second childhood.
The next photo should have been a beaming elderly gentleman standing beside his masterpiece, pleased as punch with his efforts. But before I could press the button, a destructive four-year-old appeared from nowhere, and with one enormous leap, demolished the lot!
And the tears? No, not from the admonished four-year-old who treated all sandcastles the same way, but from my father, the only time I ever remember seeing him cry.
