Clam digging

If you knew me when I was a kid, then you most likely know what the title of today's blog refers to.

But first some back story...

6 years ago today, my dad passed away. He's in heaven, with a few good friends and family members, busy singing Jesus' praises, or fishing, or building something, or whatever it is God's got him doing.

The last few weeks I've had what seems like more than usual opportunities to talk about Dad. Whether it is to console a friend who recently lost his dad, or to relay Father's day memories to another friend. But then I had a great conversation with my grandson, Brandon, about my dad--a great grandpa that he's too young to remember.

We were at a San Diego beach watching Brandon play soccer (talented kid!) and on our way out of the parking lot, we saw the bonfire pits. How fun if we could do that!

As we chatted on, I shared my memories of my summers at the beach, having bonfires, and watching my dad go clam-digging. He'd wade out into the surf, with some strange concoction of a wetsuit he made, experimenting with various sorts of covering for his feet--I remember plastic bags with rubber bands, socks--1 pair then maybe 2 pair, and seeing his footprints in the sand. He'd go out into the surf with some strange pitch fork and a bag slung over his shoulder. And he'd come back with a bunch of clams in his bag. He'd show the clams to my sister and me, then sit around the bonfire.

And what did we do with those clams? Clam chowder on 4th of July!

Which is my birthday, by the way.

And I don't like clams, by the way.

The best part of this story? The endearing memories that I can share with my family in telling this story. My son-in-law got a kick that something I didn't like (clams) became such a great memory for me. Brandon and Enrique think that having a bonfire at the beach is a great idea! And they learned about clam-digging.

And my heart was full. My heart is still full. Yes, sometimes my heart aches and I wish so much to talk to my dad, but I have memories. Life memories, about clam-digging, that I can share over and over and over again.

My dad loved to tell stories. That he passed down that love to me is something I should cherish. And hold dear to memories and stories that I can pass down.