© 2013 Aaron Atkinson


I was probably six years old. I was digging holes and building castles in the cool, tan-colored sand on the shore of Lake Erie. The kid playing next to me flipped a plastic shovelful of wet sand into my face. It went in my mouth, in my ears and in my eyes.

My mom, having seen the unfortunate event unfold, hurried over to help me wash the sand from my eyes.

It hurt and I started to cry.

“It’s okay to cry. Keep crying. It’ll help to wash out the bad stuff.”

So I cried and the tears did indeed wash away the sand.

To this day, when I tear up I hear my Mom’s voice and I keep on crying. And in doing so I wash away the bad stuff.

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