Footsteps

It is very early in the morning and I have stolen Madison from her bed and taken her to the beach for a sunrise walk.  The beach, like most of Hawaii, is sleeping, only a few egrets are keeping watch over us.  The sun is emerging from its morning bath and the ocean is beginning its retreat from the heat until later toward evening.  We walk along the shoreline where the water has recently come and gone, leaving a smooth, cool surface to caress our feet.  Madison is mesmerized by the sand and surf and at the moment she is captivated by the moist footsteps her father is trailing before her.  She has barely begun walking and, holding my hands, is trying to keep pace with the footsteps, but no matter how small my steps are she is unable to follow in them.  Soon she stops and sits in the wet sand and watches the water rushing its way toward her, only to retreat before reaching her. Everyone, even Mother Ocean, loves playing with a baby.  This morning the ocean must seem such a tease to my nine month old daughter.

My daughter picks up a handful of sand and examines it.  Rubbing her hands together she becomes friends with its texture.  Gravity makes certain that some of the handful is deposited on her legs.  This is amusing to her so she tells it so in that language that no translator can decode but that all babies understand.  

As I watch her an egret (Bubulcus ibis) lands softly on a nearby rock, others float on the wind above us. They are freeloaders, living on the bugs off the backs of cattle as well as being on the tourist dole. Our grounded friend is trying to reconcile instinct with experience. Humans should be of no concern to his way of life, but our ubiquitous presence has altered his lifestyle. He follows a genetic map that is only slightly different from ours: the need for survival is the direction he is traveling.  It is the Prime Directive for all of the known members of the Animal Kingdom, man included. And the egret is calculating the probability of garnering breakfast from my daughter and me.

The egret did not naturally migrate to Hawaii. Though the Cattle Egret has now taken up residence on more than half of the earth, he was purposely introduced to Hawaii. In 1959, because of growing concern over the insect population--caused by the importation of cattle-- the egret was delivered to feast on the now abundant insect life. The original egrets hailed from Africa. Their successful colonization of other lands is due to their adaptability. They are able to find and feast on a wide variety of food sources.

Egrets, while wonderfully adaptable, are still driven by instinct. Their behavior is genetically programmed. What they learn is simply in response to survival. Breeding pairs pass survival and other instincts on to their offspring. They spend a few weeks protecting them and feeding them. Once physical maturity has been reached the egret is on his own. Beyond these few short weeks of training there is little else.

I watch my daughter from a few feet away. Human newborn are among the least developed creatures on earth. It takes longer for us to reach maturity than any other animal, physically, socially and emotionally. First hand experience is our greatest teacher. Instinct, for the most part, has been buried somewhere deep in our genetic code. Our children are explorers, trying to fill a clean slate.  We all begin by following others. Parents lead us through life years before we are able to navigate on our own. They show us the world and its immensity, or in some cases how small it can be.  From them we learn about the things we see, what to fear and what to welcome.  Only later are we able to discern for ourselves how we will approach them.  Only later will we decide the paths we will make.  

As parents we try to convey our views to our children and hope that they will take them to heart.  But we also long for the day that they will assert their individuality.  (Of course, when that individuality comes at an early age parents consider the time to be a living hell.)

The egret decides that we are not the charitable sort and cries out in complaint as he leaves us.  He and the rest of his flock disappear down the shoreline.  Madison looks up from her spot in the sand and smiles, showing me a handful of her amusement.  The sun is no longer playing Mozart as it rises in the eastern sky.  It is wide awake and ready for a raucous day for those of us in the Sandwich Isles.  The Stones seem to be more to its mood.  It is already feeling warm and getting hotter by the minute.  But there are no complaints from the two of us.  Back in Colorado the mercury is struggling under its own burdens where--despite the insistence of sunny skies--it can only tread water once it passes freezing.

I pick Madison up and take her hands and we make our way back down the beach.  The impressions we made in the sand on our way out have faded somewhat.  The breeze and the surf have worn them thin.  

There is no telling who the people will be that will leave lasting impressions on my daughter.  There is no controlling their effect.  At some point she will choose her own path, but she will always carry others with her.  I can only have a say in the things that come from home.  And that is a big enough responsibility.  So for now, I take slow, small footsteps in the sand, and I wait for her to catch up.