Once there was a little boy named Willie who love the ocean. Willie loved the ocean so much that his room was full of books and magazines and puzzles and pictures of the ocean. Willie had a bedspread on his bed that was blue, a rug on his floor that was blue, curtains on the window that were blue, and a lamp made of seashells. Willie had records of ocean sounds like seagulls and whales, and records by the Beach Boys who sang songs about swimming and surfing and sailing on the ocean. Willie’s parent had taken him to see Endless Summer six times, but Willie had never seen the ocean for real. You see, Willie lived on a farm in Kansas, and that is about as far away from the ocean as you can get. The only ocean Willie had ever seen was the “sea” of yellow wheat at harvest time.

Every Christmas and for his birthday, and any time his grandmother came to visit, Willie asked for something to remind him of the ocean. One Christmas, his grandmother gave him a red pail and shovel that had ocean scenes on them.Willie loved that pail and shovel more than anything in the world. For his birthday that year, his Aunt Ruth, who lived in Florida, sent him a small box with ocean sand and smooth round pebbles and even some seashells. Willie talked his father into building him a sand-box in the back yard under the big elm tree, where he mixed his ocean sand with some Kansas River sand and made his own beach.

For weeks and weeks, Willie spent all his time between chores in the sand-box, making sand castles and faces and animals and great mounds of sand which weren’t really anything, but Willie called them his sand dunes. One day, Willie’s dog, Skip, carried his shovel off and buried it like a bone. Willie thought it was gone forever, but he spent the day digging in the yard and the barn lot and finally found his shovel and six of Skip’s fairly well-used bones. Willie was happy again. And so was Skip.

Vacation-time was coming. Every year, Willie asked his father to take the family to the ocean and every year Willie’s father would say, “Maybe next year, son.” Willie’s father’s farm wasn’t doing too well, Willie knew, because he heard his father and mother talking at the kitchen table one night after they thought he had gone to sleep.

“If we don’t have a good crop this year, we’ll have to sell this place for peanuts,” Willie’s father said, with tears in his eyes.

“We’ll be fine, I know,” his mother said.

Willie decided not to ask his father to take them to the ocean that year, but his will-power gave out and he did ask him, knowing for sure what the answer would be.

But for some reason, when he asked, his father said, “Willie, I have a surprise for you. We’re going to go visit your Aunt Ruth in Florida right after the crops are in. I’ve promised you for years; now this is the year we finally do it.”
Willie could hardly believe his ears. After he hugged and kissed his father and mother, and even his older sister (ugh), he ran to his room and got out all his books and pictures and put “Surfin’ Safari” on the record-player and began to dream of all the things he would do at the beach. Mostly, though, he just wanted to be able to stick his big toe in the ocean and feel the cool, green waters on his face.

The next day, Willie called his grandmother in Illinois to tell her the good news. A week later, a package came in the mail for him. It was a bright yellow beachball. Willie’s eyes popped when he saw it. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. And even though he loved the red pail and shovel with the pictures of the ocean on them, the yellow beachball was something extra special. It was smooth and round and perfect. Willie wanted to take it out to the sand-box and try it out, but he was afraid that Skip would want to try it out, too, so Willie put it on the top shelf of his closet for safekeeping. But every night before he went to bed and every morning when he got up, Willie would take the bright yellow beachball down form the shelf and feel its smooth, round, perfect surface and dream of the beach and the ocean.

Finally, after what seemed like a million years, the crops were harvested and the big pieces of machinery were stored for the winter and it was time to go to Florida and the ocean. Willie’s mother went to his school and got special permission for him to be gone for two weeks. The principal was happy to see Willie finally get to go to the ocean; he and Willie had become good friends when Willie found out that the principal had live in Oregon near the coast. Willie spent all his spare time at school talking to the principal about the ocean. The principal didn’t mind because he missed the ocean, too. Willie was a good student, so missing two weeks of school was just fine. He was usually that far ahead of the other kids in his class, anyway.

Willie’s father packed the car on Sunday afternoon, right after church, so they could leave bright and early the next morning. They planned to get up at six o’clock and drive to Kansas City, where Willie’s father promised to take them to breakfast at McDonald’s. Besides the ocean, Willie wanted an Egg McMuffin more than anything in the world. The family got to Kansas City at eight o’clock and found a McDonald’s right away. His father and mother both had pancakes and sausage, and his sister (ugh) had a Danish and orange juice. Willie, of course, had an Egg McMuffin, and it was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life.

After they had all finished, they got back in the car and started off across Missouri. When they crossed the Mississippi River, Willie thought to himself, “That water is going to the ocean just like me.”

That night, they stayed in a motel in Memphis that had a swimming pool, but it was too late to go swimming by the time they got there anyway. Willie didn’t mind, though; he knew he’d be swimming in the ocean in another two days. The next day, they drove across Tennessee and had just crossed into Georgia when Willie’s father said, “I can’t drive any more today. Let’s stop.” Willie wanted to go on but he knew that his father was tired.

Willie was too excited to sleep that night and he stayed awake thinking about the ocean. When the sun came up the next morning, Willie was already dressed and ready to go, but he was careful not to wake his father and mother. By seven o’clock, though, he was too impatient to wait any longer and he gently shook his father’s arm.

“Oh, Willie, I’m sorry I over-slept. I’ll bet you can’t wait to get on the road.”

Willie just smiled. He loved his father more than anything in the world, even more than his pail and shovel and even more that his bright yellow beachball.

His bright yellow beachball! He’d forgotten it!

How could he have forgotten it?

It was still on the shelf in his closet!

Oh, no!

He had come all this way and had forgotten the one thing that he wanted to have with him the most when he saw the ocean.

His mother and father and sister were busily packing the car and getting ready to go, so they didn’t see the sadness on Willie’s face. “But after all,” he thought, “I am going to get to see the ocean.” And that made him happy again. Every now and then, though, he would think of his bright yellow beachball on the shelf in his closet and wish he had it with him.

Because he hadn’t slept during the night, Willie went fast asleep after lunch and didn’t wake up when they arrive at his Aunt Ruth’s house. His father tried to wake him up by saying, “Willie, we’re here. Willie.” But he was sound asleep. So his father carried him into the house and put him to bed.

Willie slept right through the night, but the next morning the bright sun streamed through the windows of his room and he woke from his long sleep with a start. At first, he didn’t know where he was, but one word jumped into his brain: OCEAN!. Willie ran to the window and there it was! The ocean. Just as he imagined it.

He pulled on his blue jeans and ran out the door, not bothering to put on his shirt or shoes. His mother and father and Aunt Ruth were already up and having break­ fast on the beach at a little picnic table that Aunt Ruth’s son, Stacy, had built for her.

“Willie, good morning,” his mother said.

“Finally decided to get up, son?” his father asked. “We thought you were going to sleep all day.”

Willie didn’t really hear any of this, because the only thing he could think of was the ocean. It was so beautiful, so green and cool.

“Willie, if you’d like to go swimming, why don’t you run into the house and put on your trunks? And when you come out, I’ve got a surprise for you,” his mother said.

Willie wasn’t sure he wanted to take the time to put on his swimming trunks, but he turned around and ran as fast as he could back to the house, where he changed in nothing flat.

When he ran back outside, he noticed that his father was gone, but his mother said, “Willie, did you forget something back in Kansas?”

Willie nodded his head slowly. His bright yellow beachball. He hadn’t thought about it since yesterday morning, but now he felt sad again that it wasn’t with him.

“Willie,” said his mother, “turn around; there’s the surprise.”

Willie turned around and there stood his father, holding his bright yellow beachball. Willie was so happy that at first he couldn’t move.

“Before we left Kansas, I went back in the house to get the flashlight I keep up in your closet, Willie,” his father said, “and I noticed your beachball was still on the shelf. I knew you had forgotten it, so I decided to let the air out of it and surprise you with it when we got to Florida. I hope you don’t mind our little trick.”

Willie didn’t mind a bit. He hugged his father and mother and his Aunt Ruth and even his sister (ugh), took his beachball and ran splashing into the ocean. It was the best thing that he had ever felt. It was even better than he had imagined.

At that exact moment Willie knew what he wanted to be when he grew up!

And when he grew up, Willie did become what he set out to be, splashing in the ocean that day, for this is a true story. You see, Willie grew up to be Willie Mays, the famous center fielder for the New York and San Francisco Giants, and in his career, he got to see many, many oceans.

But the moral of the story is that just because you love the ocean it doesn’t mean you’re going to turn out to be Jacques Cousteau.

St. Joseph, MO
April 4, 1981
Revised Leawood, KS
June 21, 2024

I wrote this fantasy story several years ago for the new-born son of some friends in Jefferson City, MO. I had never thought to publish it until now, but with the passing of Willie Mays, I thought this was the appropriate time as my tribute to one of the greatest baseball players of all time. RIP, Willie.