Son, Father and Crabs

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My friend owns the finest seafood store in Lancaster. I learned crab picking at the kitchen table with my dad. He'd drink beer, I had soda. And at six, seven, or eight years old I'd watch and learned how to break the shells and knife out the meat and listen to dad tell me stories about his week, the Phillies, about his his friends, his life - and through wide wide wide eyes, it'd be so great. A boy and his daddy together on a summer night - eating crabs, talking, laughing, loving.

Now to cut their salty seasoning I drink the beer. And for moments I'm a kid and imagine the PHillies on the radio and it's summer in the city, with my daddy at that tiny breakfast table all aspread with newspapers. And that's why I saw Tim and his son sorting crabs at their seafood shop today through the hazy multi-colored lenses of a summer ritual.

Culture passes from dad to boy.