Skipping Stones

Looking for the perfect one, along the lake-front shore; Mine resulted in ten quick skips, he wants his to skip one more. I watched the mirror of myself, thirty years removed; Trying to outdo his Dad as if something that would prove. He squats and examines each stone he finds looking for one smooth and flat; My boy is growing into a young man – into a fine one as a matter of fact. He picks his stone and sidearm throws it against the water’s surface top; I counted eight but yelled, “Thirteen!” when that stone came to a stop.