Sandcastles are for Children

Thin fingers trailed the smooth surface but the pebbles stayed in place. Her hard work had paid off. Hours of love had gone into her castle. It started out as a muddy lump of sand and evolved into a gorgeous structure by the guidance of her heart.

In those hours, she learned the meaning of love.

The sand flowed and pulsated beneath her fingers, responsive to her will, but it also knew how to tickle her fingers and give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. To the kids recklessly thrashing around her, she knew the relationship did not look balanced. She knew she looked like a fool. They saw the nicks in the sand as flaws. But she didn't care. Because she knew better. She leaned in and gave the hardy sand a dry peck. Her masterpiece. Her time, effort, and most importantly, love.

The shuffle of approaching feet drew her from her trance. The bare, aging feet of her parents planted themselves firmly in her view, shamelessly crushing her masterpiece beneath them.

The girl cried out in horror and pain.

"Sandcastles are for children," they said.

"You can always make a new one," they said.

"There's better ones out there," they said.

"That one was no good, anyway," they said.

"You're too young to understand."

They gripped the hand of their adult daughter and pulled her away from love.

"You have us," they said.

"You don't need anything else, because we love you."