Whatever this is, I don’t know where its going.  But I do remember standing in the ankle high water of Lake Michigan and watching the minnows flit back and forth, and little flecks of light that rocked on the surface of the waves;  the muddy cold of the sand as I clenched my feet; the weedy smell of vast fresh water in summer, and Marv standing nearby, in his red, plaid swim trunks.  And learning that, when I reached for the minnows, they scattered like shards of glass; but if you scooped the water up, surrounding it with hands as big as Daddy’s, then minnows could be held, swimming still, close enough to see.