Broken Shells

It was a warm summer afternoon at the Jersey shore. My four-year-old son and I just loved walking along the beach just before dinner. With a bucket in hand, we’d hit the sand and start our adventure.

I remember the days not so long ago when a trip to the beach was just unbearable for my little boy. My son, Will, was diagnosed with ASD (孤独症). His sensitivities to sights, sounds, and touches would prevent us from enjoying everyday activities. The beach is now one of his favorite places to visit.

Presently, we are able to walk along the edge of the water almost daily in the summer months, looking for seashells to fill our bucket. On this particular day, there didn’t seem to be too many shells washed up on the shore. Will began picking up whatever shells he saw lying in the sand. After a while, I looked into the bucket and saw nothing but broken shells. “Will,” I said, “all of these shells are broken and no good.” “You need to find shells like this,” I continued, as I held up a perfectly shaped shell. Will gave me a puzzled look and continued on his way, gathering whatever shells he saw and dropping them into the bucket.

I continued my search for some time, and again, I stopped, but this time I asked in a firm voice, “Will, why do you insist on filling our bucket with shells that are broken?” He looked up at me and replied, “Mom, there are more shells on the beach that are broken than there are perfect ones that you are searching for. We’ll get the bucket filled faster with the broken ones.” True, I thought, but who wanted a bucketful of broken shells? Will stared at me as if he knew what I was thinking. “Mom, these shells are broken. but they are still beautiful.” he added. Just then he began commenting on different shells’ uniqueness. “It has the color purple on it. Mom, none of yours have purple on them. It reminds me of a clown (小丑). This one is like the sun, and these ones are like butterfly wings,” he said with such pride.

Touched by what he said, I realized changes are to be made to our shell trip.

Back home with great joy, we agreed to make more shell trips and build a “broken shell garden”.

I walk slowly, but I never walk backward.

Maybe we all live in each other’ spaces. Perhaps this is what the photo I took during a summer holiday is for if you treat others with patience and tolerance, then you’ll likely be repaid in another space.

Fifteen years ago, I took a trip in Lecce in southern Italy that summer. Lecce is an important stage for art and culture lovers. Walking in the city center is a dive into the past, between churches and antique buildings that keep precious details and decorations. More importantly, it’s an ideal place for photographers.

One morning, I got up early enough for a panoramic view of the sunrise, the blue sea, white buildings and green olive trees. After climbing up a hill, I paused to catch my breath and then positioned myself to take the best photo of this panorama.

Unluckily, I was about to take out my camera when suddenly a woman approached from behind, and planted herself right in front of my view. Like me, I thought, this woman was here to stop for a short rest, and enjoy the scenery. Beyond my expectation, she stood still as if something caught her eye, not noticing anyone else’s presence around her.

Patient as I was, after about 10 minutes, with my camera scanning the sun and reviewing the shot I would eventually take, I got bored. Was it too much to ask her to move aside so that I could take just one picture of the landscape? Of course, I could have asked her, but something prevented me from doing so. She seemed so content in her observation that I didn’t have the heart to mess with that.

Another 10 minutes passed. However, the woman was still there. I grew frustrated. I decided to take the photo anyway. With an unwilling touch of the shutter, I left in low spirits.

On my arrival home, I had the film developed as usual.

Now this photo hangs on a wall in my bedroom.