|A pair of funky chickens?|
It is something that you don't realize until you have kids, but there is a universal set of Dad rules formulated at the dawn of time and set in stone that describe what is expected of you. And your kids are born with this knowledge fully ingrained.
One of them is thus:
If you happen to be at a beach and your boys want to go in the water, daddy is automatically the designated bather. It does not matter if the temperature is in the 50s and the water even colder (though not as cold as a certain winter day in Galveston), it does not matter if none of you have bathers and you are wearing 1 of the only 2 pairs of trousers you brought over with you. It does not matter that you are hacking up a lung after picking up a nasty cough from the plane. You are going in. There is no question, negotiation or way around it.
Yesterday we visited Aberavon beach, a quick 5 miles from my parents house and a regular haunt for me growing up. It was cold but fun, and me and the boys ended up in the water. This is not Texas ocean - it's icy. But next time we go, I'll make sure to wear my running shorts. Much easier than rolling up the legs of my trousers and still getting them soaked.
|Gavin ploughing ahead - Dylan a bit more cautious|
|Hey, that jacket looks familiar!!!|
|At one point I started humming the Jaws theme and Gavin sprinted out of the water|
|We got some pretty good waves|