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Did you know turtles never know their parents? Flapping and pummeling out of their rubber skinned egg they discover not the kind faces of their mother and father smiling down at them in a way only turtles can. Instead they see a sandy beach and a long shuffling journey towards a rolling grey sea.

No baby turtle, dragging their soft young shell towards those waves, has ever seen their mother or father. No baby turtle got to ride the dangerous journey to the ocean on the shell of their parent. They learn to take a breath and swim through pummeling tide without the helping flipper of a father. They learn to fish and eat without their mother's keen eye and gentle head bumps. They learn to live, feed, hate, love and die all without ever crossing paths with the fateful pair that brought them into the world.

And they abandon their unhatched eggs, hidden under a layer of sand, in the exact same way their parents abandoned them.

But, in a way, I admire them. Yes, they leave their children behind without even peeking back over their shell for a second look. But at least they are honest about it. Turtles abandon their young; it has always been that way and it always will be. They don't expect to see their parents when they poke their pointed noses from their eggs; they expect the sandy beach. They don't expect a ride to the sea on a parent's back; they expect the long haul. They don't expect a father to teach them to swim; they expect to swim or drown. They don't expect a mother to help them fish; they expect to eat or starve. They don't ever expect anything. They never did. They never will.

Why would you expect anything from perfect strangers?

Why do I still expect something from the perfect strangers that left me?

I guess I just need to get a harder shell.

Description
Did you know turtles never know their parents? Flapping and pummeling out of their rubber skinned egg they discover not the kind faces of their mother and father smiling down at them in a way only turtles can. Instead they see a sandy beach and a long shuffling journey towards a rolling grey sea.

No baby turtle, dragging their soft young shell towards those waves, has ever seen their mother or father. No baby turtle got to ride the dangerous journey to the ocean on the shell of their parent. They learn to take a breath and swim through pummeling tide without the helping flipper of a father. They learn to fish and eat without their mother's keen eye and gentle head bumps. They learn to live, feed, hate, love and die all without ever crossing paths with the fateful pair that brought them into the world.

And they abandon their unhatched eggs, hidden under a layer of sand, in the exact same way their parents abandoned them.

But, in a way, I admire them. Yes, they leave their children behind without even peeking back over their shell for a second look. But at least they are honest about it. Turtles abandon their young; it has always been that way and it always will be. They don't expect to see their parents when they poke their pointed noses from their eggs; they expect the sandy beach. They don't expect a ride to the sea on a parent's back; they expect the long haul. They don't expect a father to teach them to swim; they expect to swim or drown. They don't expect a mother to help them fish; they expect to eat or starve. They don't ever expect anything. They never did. They never will.

Why would you expect anything from perfect strangers?

Why do I still expect something from the perfect strangers that left me?

I guess I just need to get a harder shell.