It is so obvious how quickly children change. Even a single day after they are born, something changes. They learn and grow immediately. They start to eat, and they quickly discover how to grasp, with their whole hand, the little finger of their father.

Then they smile, sit up, and then crawl and walk. They speak and laugh. They get haircuts and pairs of new light-up velcro shoes and they learn to hold their breath while swimming.

They were born to change, truly. And it does happen fast. But occasionally we’ll notice something, one little thing, that endures a bit. One little, essential, thing about these children that will remain permanent even as they grow, like a thumbprint of their personality.

Something, finally, which is consistent and deeply comforting and helps us find a peaceful, amicable reconciliation with the passing time. I need these little, essential things to stay anchored when the water in our lives gets choppy.

We are at the beach and I am sitting in the sand when Robert catches my eye.

He is about 25 yards ahead of me, at the water’s edge. As he looks out at the the waves I notice his silhouette, the tide splashing past his ankles. I am awestruck by how Robert’s posture and demeanor have remained consistent over the years.

Robert has an empathy and quiet confidence in his posture. His feet are grounded and his back is straight, but there’s a softness to his stance. He stands like an explorer does who has both the anticipation to go where others have not and the humility to appreciate the vastness of the ocean before him. Robert’s silhouette has had a tender graciousness to it his whole life.

Myles is about 10 feet ahead of me and is sitting cross-legged, while building sandcastles with his Grandad. I notice, immediately, the sturdiness in Myles’s back. His posture is upright, erect. His silhouette is eager, bold, and focused. His muscles and frame are sinewy and taut, and he always carries his chest a few degrees forward as if in an athlete’s ready stance.

And yet, just as everything about him is sturdy, Myles also radiates a sense of playfulness and joy - his body moves with a rhythm of jazz music even now, as he plops sand in the bucket shovel by shovel. This mix of intensity and ease gives him an uncommon swagger, I think to myself, which could not possibly have been taught to him - it’s something calm and natural. Myles’s silhouette has always been deliberate and electric, just as it is now, as I watch him fill another bucket with wet sand.

And finally, I turn my gaze to Emmett, who has just crawled out from between my legs to be closer to the action of the sandcastle factory in front of me. Even at just one year old, Emmett’s unique qualities are already starting to emerge. Emmett’s posture is open and gregarious. His arms and his legs, even while sitting on the beach, are spread out as if he’s giving the breeze and the sunshine a hug as he giggles.

Emmett’s silhouette is like a starfish, always reaching and spreading his limbs and fingers to wave at, greet, and smile outwardly to the whole world. Already, I can tell that within Emmett there is an enduring openness, friendliness, and dynamic warmth. This is a truth his silhouette is already revealing.

These are the silhouettes of my three sons. What I am seeing is my three sons. And even though so much of who they are and who they will be is not yet decided, I am seeing something essential about them. There is something of them that is already drawn. Something that will not change. And what is already drawn is something unique and something good.

And then I snap back to the moment. The children laughing, the friends, the sand, the waves, and the horizon all come back into focus. I’m back here, sitting on the beach.

But then I remember some of the other wonderful silohouttes I’ve seen throughout this day at the beach and this trip - like when Myles and Robert were walking hand in hand down the boardwalk, or when the three of them were dog-piling on the floor laughing and tickling each other, or when they were all right in front me me working on the same sandcastle.

What I’m seeing is a bond being formed. As I watch my three sons play and explore the world together, their individual silhouettes are blending together to form a beautiful, harmonious picture of brotherhood. Witnessing this is what fills my heart the most.

There have been so many moments during this trip where I see them together, the lines of their silhouettes and complementary postures all within one frame. What gives me the deepest pleasure as a father is seeing the Tambe Brothers become a silhouette of it’s own.

And deep down, I accept their relationship with each other will grow and evolve. They’ll tussle and wrastle and have spats from time to time. I know this.

I know that their bond as brothers will never again be the same as it is now. Time will, despite my best efforts and sincerest prayers, continue to pass.

But I know, too, that something about this scene in front of me won’t change. Something of their brotherhood is already drawn and will endure, even after we are gone. I find comfort in this. This is the anchor I am looking for.

This image of the three of them together, in a bond of harmonious brotherhood, is the silhouette I treasure the most.