"Our memories of the ocean will linger on, long after our footprints in the sand are gone." -- Anonymous

Whether we were born 15 steps from the ocean or 15 miles, we will always claim the coast.

From the moment we were old enough to be carried out onto the sandy shore, we were forever changed.

The ocean became a part of who we are.

No matter how far we move or how much we grow, the days we spent on the beach are forever ingrained in our persons.

Perhaps we swallowed too much salt water the first time we went into the ocean, but no matter what was thrown our way, we kept coming back for more.

Moms smothered us with sticky, smelly sunscreen all the while reminding us a thousand times before leaving, "Don't forget to put some on your ears."

We never did.

So, after hours of playing beneath the hot summer sun, building sand castles and boogie boarding all the decent waves we could, we would rejoin our parents for an afternoon snack, ears bright red from sunburn.

Jellyfish stings and seashell cuts became commonplace. They never hurt any less, but we just learned how to tough them out and get back in the water.

Rip currents and shark warnings, hurricanes and thunderstorms, we knew from a very young age that the ocean wasn't the safest place. Especially for those of us who lived on a coast with murky waters, we rarely knew if there was danger lurking right below our feet.

And yet, we would always come back. Summer after summer. Year after year, because there is no such thing as staying away.

Sitting somewhere in some long-forgotten jar is our extensive seashell collection. Even though we were frequent occupants of the seashore, we could never get enough.

We would drag buckets full of cracked artifacts back to our sandy towels and sift through them with our professional eye. After mistaking every black fragment of a shell we found for a shark's tooth, we eventually gave up on the idea.

Until that special day when we actually did find that prized piece. Only the cool kids could find those.

With pink shoulders, freckled faces, and sandy britches, we would return to our houses, exhausted from a long day of adventuring, never realizing then that we were making lifelong memories for today.

Even if we no longer splash around like we used to or race to the piers with our siblings anymore doesn't mean we have outgrown the surf and the sand, the smell of the sea and the sights of the commercial banners streaming behind planes.

We don't need to hold a conch shell to our ears to hear the ocean calling us back.