My daughter Sarah, age 11, and I are spending a July afternoon on what we consider our home beach -- Willows Beach in Oak Bay, Victoria, BC, Canada.

We're not your typical sand people. We don't spend long summer days lounging about, building sand castles, like many families do, with some parents employing the appeal of the sand and surf as a babysitter. I'd like to be a family like that. It looks like a smart, cheap and actually healthy way to spend a summer (gallons of sunscreen assumed). Only one thing stops us from embracing that lifestyle ... we get bored easily. We've tried the usual entertainments -- sandcastles, shell collecting, beach fires, etc. -- but for us, there's a limited appeal in such typical beach-bound exploits.

On this day, Sarah is unusually captivated by some sand creation. I venture over to see what's up and take a few pics. "I'm building sand people," she states (beach figures sculpted in sand). "Wow, what a cool idea!" I respond, "I'm gonna do one too." She looks up at me with a weary expression and says, "Don't make it too good, Dad." I smile, because inside, I know how she feels.

When I was young, I would labour away on some creative venture for hours, only to have my father make it all look insignificant with just a few moments' application of his masterful artistic skill. It seemed like an insurmountable task to get his respect through my artistic endeavours. But that's all pure master and apprentice. It's what drives us to always move forward; not money, but the respect of those who are most important to us.

Sarah doesn't recognize that just the original idea of creating sand people has already chalked her up a lot of those respect points. Perfecting its execution however, will take the rest of her life. Mine too.