Born Different, Washed Ashore

It sounds dramatic, but the day I was born, it honestly felt like the whole Atlantic coast just stopped to see what would happen next.

The air stung with salt, and the wind outside our little beach house rattled the loose screen door—rattle-rattle, like it might just fly off. Even the gulls seemed to hush up for a minute. Seriously, the whole world got quiet, like it was waiting for something big. Dad always says the tide was the highest he’d ever seen that morning. I don’t buy it. He just likes to make stories sound cooler.

Turns out? Nope, just me. Boring old human.

No fins, no gills, not even a hint of webbed toes. Just a squalling, red-faced kid with a shock of black hair and lungs that could out-scream a hurricane. Disappointing—if you were hoping for a mermaid. Honestly, you’d have to laugh.

How is that any different from my parents expecting a puppy and getting a worm?

I mean, picture my parents going to the shelter for a golden retriever and coming home with a garden snake. That’s the kind of curveball life throws at you sometimes. Life’s got a wicked sense of humor, doesn’t it?

My mom stared at me for a long time, pressed her hand to her stomach, and said, “Could this thing be some kind of parasite?” She paused, glancing at Dad. “Maybe we should just drop it off somewhere.”

She said it so deadpan, you’d think she was talking about a bad burrito, not her own kid. Dad just shrugged, like, sure, that tracks. That’s just how my family jokes. Our humor’s always been a little dark—maybe too dark for some people.

Dad nodded, grabbed me by the ankle, and with a quick swing—whoosh—tossed me right into the ocean. I don’t know how long I tumbled through that freezing water before I finally splashed down. Everything spun, cold everywhere, then I started to sink.

I was so new to the world I barely knew up from down. Then—bam—the water hit me like a slap. Salt in my eyes. The shock of cold. I remember drifting, just floating, the current tugging me deeper. My brain was a blank, just flashes of sensation.

I kicked my legs a couple times and bobbed back up. I guess instinct kicked in.

My little arms flailed, instinct taking over. Guess I wasn’t ready to drown just yet. I gulped a lungful of air and blinked at the sky, feeling the waves rock me like some weird cradle.

When I got tired and stopped, I sank again. Down I went, bubbles rising past my ears. I remember thinking, So this is it? The ocean was quiet—just the sound of bubbles and my own heartbeat. Salt in my mouth, the light fading, the world turning blue and strange. Everything felt far away. Weird.

Kick, float up. Get tired, sink down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Like some kind of weird game.