That's our family's official myth. I have it in a book somewhere. Ancestor McKay loved to wander the wild beach his family claimed on the Atlantic side of Scotland. Where, it must be admitted, you could not grow the grapes for good wine.
One day he met a mermaid. She calmly basked on the damp sand, little curls of surf racing up her long tail. "A very shapely tail," he thought.
He did not want to frighten her. "May I approach?" he called gently.
She pulled her long, fine, sea-weedy hair back from her face.
And that day, a mermaid left her natural home. She changed her tail for long legs. And with Ancestor McKay began a family, as his bride.
They were happy. She built a large family, bearing six children. All survived. That mermaid loved her man, true and true.
But as their children aged and became independent, she fell into melancholy. She longed to see (sea) her native world again. She said to him, "We must visit the wild ocean." And he immediately agreed, because her heart beat in his chest.
They would visit the wild ocean again and reminisce.
They walked together, just the two of them. The waves thumped. The gravel rattled. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Would you like a few minutes alone, lassie?" he asked. It was the hardest thing he'd ever said. He knew what it could mean.
He ached for the place where he belonged, so for sure she ached for her place. He'd thought: "With the children gone, would she wish to stay on land?"
He literally could not imagine life without her.
He depended on her. He depended on her mood. He depended on her kindness. He depended on her body within arms' reach.
But you could not truly know another's thoughts or predict someone's behavior.
He was in love. She was in love.
She swam away from the shore, tunneled into the waves, and disappeared. "Graceful as a dolphin after all these years," he thought.
And that's why the McKays to this day yearn to live near the ocean. To reunite.