LAST weekend, my son Lewis and I went to a beach litter pick. It was a very blustery morning, not ideal weather for picking up litter. Nevertheless, we arrived at the assembly point where we were met by organiser Heather.
We chose our litter pickers and Lewis decided he should be responsible for carrying the bag. We swept along the beach like birds of prey, our eyes searching for bits of litter other pickers might have missed. Within 30 minutes, it was more than half full of discarded plastic bottles and other types of litter.
Soon our time was nearly up and we headed back to the assembly point. Our bag was not entirely full, but we had a respectable haul.
But then, Lewis spotted a crisp packet hiding under a small bush. It was flapping in the wind and threatening to take off. With great care, he used his litter picker to grasp the packet.
“Open the bag, dad.”
I had kept the large plastic bag twisted and covered to stop the litter blowing out in the wind, so I untwisted the neck and opened it partially, so the litter stayed bagged.
Lewis expertly lowered his pickers into the narrowed opening and dropped the packet.
Job done.
Except the packet defied gravity, courtesy of the wind. It did a twirling dance in front of us as it spiralled out of the bag’s mouth. I had been too slow to react and the packet now mocked me as it hovered for a moment above our heads, then took off with speed down the beach.
“Oh no dad, we need to get that crisp packet!” Lewis cried out, starting to run after it.
But the thing was doing cartwheels in the gusts, speeding this way then that way, and within seconds was 50 metres away at least. It was hopeless, it had got away.
“Lewis – leave it,” I called out. “We’ve had a good morning; it’s just a crisp packet, we have a bag full of litter. We’ve done our job.”
He paused and turned round, gave me a quick look, then continued his pursuit.
I watched him as he ran down the beach, following the crisp packet.
He ran as fast as he could, and luckily the wind died down for a few moments and the packet floated gently onto the beach. Lewis was tantalisingly close to it when, suddenly, it took off again.
I watched as my son performed what looked like a ritual dance with his litter picker as he tried to catch the packet in mid-air with them, but to no avail. Then, suddenly, the direction of the wind seemed to change, and the packet headed from the beach inland, towards the nearby supermarket car park.
This worried me.
“Leave it Lewis, leave it, it’s just a crisp packet, don’t go any further,” I called out. But he either couldn’t hear me or chose not to.
It was time for me to run, to get to my son and keep him safe. But suddenly the crisp packet snagged itself on a bush on the edge of the car park. I watched as Lewis prowled towards it, like a tiger stalking its prey, then he made his move.
I waited with bated breath to see if he’d caught the fugitive piece of litter. I could see he was holding the litter picker close to him, and now he walked triumphantly towards me.
Yes! The crisp packet was held tightly in the claws of Lewis’s litter picker. His face was beaming. I couldn’t resist: I had to take a photo of his triumphant expression.
“Got it dad!” he said. “Can you open the bag properly this time?!”
So, while I did my best to shield the bag’s opening from the wind, Lewis carefully dropped the captured packet into it. As soon as he did, I closed the bag and gave him a high five!
“Well done!” I said. “You were determined to get that crisp packet, weren’t you?”
He looked at me with raised eyebrows: “Dad, it’s not just a crisp packet, it could have blown into the sea, and a seal or other creature could have mistaken it for a fish, or food, and choked. That’s why I knew I must get it. It was an animal’s life at stake.”
In that moment, I understood the meaning of the three-minute drama of the crisp packet chase I’d just witnessed; there was hope for the future.
My son hadn’t just been chasing a crisp packet, he was chasing a vision of a better future: a future in which we recognise our relationship and connection with nature, and our responsibility to protect it and not pollute it.
I had been the one to say give up, but he was the one who was determined to make the effort and make a difference. Even if it was small, it was still a difference, and he understood that.
And that’s the seed of real hope for the future.
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