NJ Beach Memories

5.30.2010My niece Susan and I took a walk on the beach. Within our view were several hundred people. Their umbrellas, chairs and other beach necessitates, in no particular pattern, lined the dry section of the sand. Everyone seemed to enjoy the unseasonably hot weather and opportunity to get started on their summer tan.

The waves were gentle but the water was ice cold. I watched people being led into the icy water by insistent relatives and friends. A father coaxed his shivering 7 year old daughter while his other daughter, probably a twin, jumped each step of the way. The destination was a sand bar. The intent, to ride a wave back to shore.

Memories of my childhood beach vacations flashed before me. Images of the past like:

· racing ahead of my sisters hoping to pick the biggest sea shells

· strolling on the boardwalk with my eyes down in search of coins, lost between the planks

· The taste of waffles with a thick layer of vanilla ice cream, which usually dripped down the front of my clothes

· The excitement of amusements and gaming booths

My mother was afraid of water because her cousin had drowned. She would sit on the beach and watch us play, occasionally helping us build sand castles. She allowed the ocean waves to pass over her feet. However, I don’t recall her ever getting her ankles wet.

My most impressionable seaside memory was learning that my father was only human. I had always thought of him as a superman. He could fix anything and would always protect me from harm.

When I was about 10 we waded out in the ocean. At that time rope barriers sectioned off the shallow swimming area. If you ventured out a life guard blew his whistle and signaled you back in.

The waves were rough and the rip tide grew stronger with each withdrawal. I was swimming 12 feet from my father when the undertow took me. I fought hard to make it back up to the surface. I felt the salt water filling my lungs as I grasped for air. I saw dad’s hand reaching out and he called my name but didn’t move. He was holding on to the barrier rope yelling to me to swim towards him.

I made it back to the ropes confused by his seemingly unwillingness to save me. I laid face down in the sand while someone pushed on my back until the water expelled from my lungs. Mother not saving me was understandable but dad? Was he trying to teach me independence?

The answer was much simpler. He did not know how to swim. A fact he had failed to mention. Perhaps he felt it was a weakness. A few days and several waffle ice creams later he became my hero again. And I became a confident swimmer with a health respect for the power of the sea.

Susan and I returned to her beach house to cool off. Margaritas were soon served. We sat outside watching the neighborhood return to their cottages from the beach. The parade of families carried towels, chairs, umbrellas and toys. Adults stopped to brush sand off their children and to smack the sand out of their sandals. Teenagers, appraising their tans, chatted on about weekend plans. It was a perfect day at the beach.