My home faces the sea. At this precise moment, dawn breaks and the sun comes over that magical line where sky meets water then slips into my window. I see still oceans that are dark blue and promise to become restless and batter against the shores of my island home.
Off in the blueness are small boats gathering the fruits from the sea. Their harvest is forever. It is bountiful and giving of itself only to join us for dinner. Hunger is a cruel master at times.
My son awakens and asks me questions that relate to our inventory of cheerios, milk and bananas. I assure him we are well stocked and send him to bathe. He grumbles a "yes."
I go to shave and notice that I am older now than before. It worries me not, yet it does if only for the eventual fate that awaits us all. Like fishermen, time can be cruel as well.
Cheerios are in the bowl, milk is poured and bananas are sliced and to the side. I hunger for his appetite and remember having it. For some reason, it is not a wonderful thought.
The car is old and noisy, so what - join the rest of the planet. "Do well in school and behave damn it!" It is a friendly good bye till later. He walks to the gate and turns to point to his eye then his heart and finally to me. I signal back by pointing to my chest and then raising two fingers. It is our language, that of father and son.
Work is far off and not inviting. It once was but not any longer. The repetition has won her battle over me. I am conquered by boredom and succumb willingly to the loss. On occasion I recall the fun of it all.
He appears from the masses of children and walks to the car. "I did well in math" he says. "Cool" say I. We are off to a fast food to get just that, fast food. I order fish on a bun with pastes and leafy things stuck between, it is a Mac something. Mistakenly, I feel that anything from the ocean must be good, no matter how much oil it took to sterilize it.
At home he reads, so do I. In silence and without looking at each other, we speak. His stomach growls and says "I need a snack." I walk to the ice-box and attend the growls.
We finish bathing and stand by the window in our shorts. The breeze soothes the day as we notice that the small fishing boats are gone. They no longer float on their fields of plenty.
Their bounty has reached dinner plates by now. Some of it is being digested.
I am in love with all of this. My son, my island, Aruba and my life. I have tried to share it in words and failed - yet - I continue till someone - some voice says to me - I understand you now. On that day, I shall be still