Safe Ocean
When I was little, my dad would carry me on his hip to the deep of the ocean. The place past where the waves crash, where the water is dark and warm. We would casually glide over each passing hill like a ship in the night. With every wave, I trusted that he would hold on to me and that I wouldn’t go under. And every summer, we made it back to shore, with my face as dry as it started on the sandy beach.
Every year, I trusted him to keep me safe.
Get Jess Red’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I can’t make my daughter chicken without over analyzing every inch of the chicken breast ensuring that it is cooked to its fullest form of cardboard. I’ve never known how to cook chicken. She trusts me to give her food that is safe to eat, to show her how to peel a banana, and teach her how to blow bubble gum.
Every day, I question if I’m keeping her safe.
This week in parenthood, she told me she loved my chicken.
