It was a hot summer evening on Puget Sound. I sat with a group of adults overlooking the water’s edge and watched Mount Rainer fade into pink and purple. The lights of distant airplanes flickered high above the Seattle skyline. Indianola was hot — but comfortable, the perfect place for friends to gather. In an hour or two there would be s’mores, but right then there was only the lazy smell of sunscreen.
It had been a long day of swimming and kayaking. The tide had pulled back the water and invited beachcombers of all ages to come explore. Sand castles appeared and perished. Tiny crabs raced across the rocks. Now the water rushed forward to cover the driftwood and added a salty smell to the air already perfumed by native roses.
All of us, I think, were lulled into sedation by nature’s beauty. When we saw two navy-blue shoes float away none of the adults moved.
“Look at those shoes,” somebody remarked. “They must have been left on the beach.”
“Uh, oh,” another person said. “Now the tide’s come in.”
I’m ashamed to say I snickered, especially when I saw a teenager jump to her feet. The rest of us sat and relaxed while she ran down to the shoreline. She didn’t just run, she charged, straight into the water.
“I bet that water’s cold right now.”
“That’ll teach her to be more responsible.”
The girl pushed through the current until she was waist deep. It took her longer than expected to reach the shoes, and when she finally grasped them she held them high in the air like a prize. Dripping wet the girl stumbled back up the beach to our grassy knoll and was greeted by cheers.
When I saw her approach I took off my sunglasses because I thought they had tricked my eyes. But no, as the girl came closer I realized that the shoes she held were much too small.
“Are these yours?” the teen asked a little boy, offering the shoes to him.
The boy, who had special needs, burst into a smile. “My shoes!” he squealed. He threw himself into her wet arms and rewarded her selflessness with joy.
I am not sure how the teenager knew those shoes belonged to the little boy. He wasn’t her brother. It wasn’t her job to take care of him. She probably ran into the water on a hunch, risking ridicule, for the slim chance of helping.
But even if she had known with 100-percent certainty whose feet those shoes belonged to it doesn’t alter the righteousness of her actions. There were lots of people on the beach that day, yet she was the only one who helped.
I am not the Good Shoe-maritan, but I have met her. She is brave. She is young. She is not what you would expect. She is an ordinary teenage girl living in Snohomish County.
You might know her too.
Jennifer Bardsley is an Edmonds mom of two. Find her on Twitter @jennbardsley and at www.heraldnet.com/ibrakeformoms and teachingmybabytoread.com.
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