Present Over Perfect

them. Because it’s fun. Because it’s a sweet tradition.
Because it makes people happy.
If you knew me ten years ago, you’d say, that kind of
thing is so Shauna. She’s totally the candy-throwing type.
But to be honest, I don’t know if you’d say that about me
the last couple years.
One afternoon, the kayakers crossed in front of our dock
while about a million other things were happening. Two
large powerboats were docking, as well as a sailboat, and a
few paddle boarders were trying not to get in the way. There
were swimmers in the water. All at the same time, in a
relatively small space.
But the man who was in charge of it all, our host—the
one who was responsible for everyone, who owned all the
stuff that was about to crash in about a thousand ways—
stopped what he was doing and sprinted down the dock to
get the lollipops.
I had a little panic attack, because what he was doing
seemed so irresponsible (warning word: irresponsible). He
threw candy, right in the middle of it. Everything swirled
around him, and he kept throwing candy, over and over,
handful after handful.
And everything was fine. All the boats were docked
safely, the swimmers were fine, nothing happened.
As I watched from the deck of the lodge, I put my head
down on the wide railing, and I began to sob.
Because I used to throw candy, right in the middle of it
all. I used to throw candy no matter what. I used to be warm