"Like my first spanking, it is one of the few incidents in my life that I can remember clearly. In the life of everyone there is a limited number of unhappy experiences which are not written upon the memory, but stamped there with a die; and in long years after, they can be called up in detail, and every emotion that was stirred by them can be lived through anew; these are the tragedies o life." (The Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man)
Yesterday I was reminded of one of those tragedies and I remembered the wonderful things that led up to it. I recall the beach, washed in golden sunlight, and waves as big as any I have seen on the east coast. I remember feeling the need to run, and taking off for several very sweaty miles. I can feel the blisters that developed under my toes from pushing off on the abrasive sand, and the thick sliminess of my hair brought on by the combo of saltwater and sweat. We laid out for hours, my friends and I, just enjoying the sun soaked atmosphere with conversation and occasional dips in the rolling breakers. I remember Rafael and I conversing in our own secret code that we were to excited about to actually keep secret. Images of Changing in the bathroom and going to Carabas for dinner, running to the car to get out of the random rain storm that passed over quickly, making fun of the boozed out bums lounging on the lawn behind the beach, and being thrown into the air right as waves went over to avoid mouthfuls of saltwater, all flash through my mind accompanied by the sound of joyous laughter.
Life for me has always been sweet. God is continually leading me to milk and honey, and I drink unceasingly from the well of his grace. Even in the bad times he has impressed my soul with rivers of peace and mountains of joy.
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