So for almost my entire adult life, every memory I have associated with the coast involves my father. Every inch of this coast line we have explored time and time again. Each view point, each beach access, each candy store.
The last two days I've spent with my own daughter here. Visiting these same places, showing her the same things my father showed me growing up.
The same places she asks for candy, the same places she wants a toy. The same sandy beaches she runs up and down, collecting every little piece of sea shell, out running the waves, and asking "what's that" to every little thing.
Never before have I realized to this degree that the roles in my life have swapped, and never before have I ever realized that I'm not ready for that to happen yet.
How do I know I'll remember all the right stories? All the right places. What if I miss one?
I couldn't even take this picture and have the thought without a tear in my eye, and I can't even type this straight faced. I'm far from too manly to admit it.
My father is an amazing man, and someone I feel I took for granted for too many years. I just hope I can accomplish for my own daughter simply half of what he did for me.
I hope I can give her a childhood worth remembering, and I hope those I bring in to her life play a role in just that same goal. Because anything for me is for her, so anything less isn't allowed.