I bought Dad a metal detector for Father’s Day, joking he’d finally “level up his beachcombing game.” On our first trip out, he kept acting like a detective, whispering “This could be it!” every time the device beeped. After hitting pay dirt—literally, just a rusty bottle cap—he still threw it in the bucket like it was gold. But then, the detector went nuts. We dug like crazy and pulled out an old coin. Dad waved it around yelling, “Son, we’re rich!” Sure, it’s probably worth 20 cents, but his goofy grin? Priceless. Now, every weekend’s a new “expedition,” and I’m pretty sure we’ve dug up half the beach’s lost junk.