Martin insisted on going to the beach today, despite previously side-eyeing anything even remotely splashy.

I figured he just wanted to dig in the sand or hunt for shiny shells… until I realized it’s turtle hatching season.

We sat quietly, watching the tiny hatchlings make their way toward the ocean. Martin didn’t fidget. He didn’t try to sneak a shell. He just… watched.

Then came the questions. About turtles. About eggs.

He asked if these eggs came through a rift like he did. I explained that sea turtles lay about 100 eggs in the sand, and they stay buried for about 60 days. His eyes widened when I told him the temperature of the sand determines if they’re boys (cooler sand) or girls (warmer sand). He was amazed—and maybe a little concerned.

“What if someone finds the eggs?” he asked. “Would they take them home… like I was?”

I could hear the ache in his voice—not just for answers, but for connection. For someone like him. Someone else from an egg. Someone who doesn’t know where they came from, either.

I gently explained it’s illegal to touch or disturb sea turtles, their nests, or hatchlings. No one will take a turtle home. They belong to the ocean.

He was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Why do the turtles leave alone? Don’t they want to stay with their brothers and sisters?”

And then, softer: “How does the ocean call them? How come I can’t hear it?”

Not sure what to say, I pulled him in for a side hug and held his hand.

We stayed until the last hatchling vanished into the surf. The sky was turning golden, and the sea shimmered like it knew a secret. I remembered the four sacred animals of Vietnam and wondered if Martin had an ancient connection to the turtles.  Him being a dragon and all – both he and the turtles were sacred…

Dragon – power.     Unicorn – beauty.     Turtle – longevity.     Crane – education.

Martin may not want to swim. He may not hear the ocean’s song.

But I think… he understands it just the same.