I don’t know about people who didn’t grow up without the East Coast, or any coast but my childhood included the beach, the boardwalk, and memories. I don’t remember any specific memories, I just remember having fun, being happy and spending time with my family, and the other neighbor family that we spent a lot of time with.
My mom told me I hated the sand on the beach. I wouldn’t move off the blanket and I wouldn’t touch the sand. When I did, I would scrunch up my face like a baby that just tasted a lemon. I did the same thing with soft grass at home! I love the sand now, I love what it does to my feet. I love how it seems to erase the icky feeling and makes me feel free, maybe that’s because I am barefoot, but the sand is a free pedicure. As long as the hotel doesn’t mind me bringing it in, neither do I.
I remember all the games, lights, sounds, prizes, food and best of all the rides, of the boardwalk! I don’t remember all the walking! Maybe I was in a stroller? Or on my dad’s shoulders? I remember pizza, ice cream, cotton candy, popcorn… I remember when my older brother begged my parents to go on the salt and pepper shakers (a ride that is extremely high, you get strapped in and get shaken up and down, hence, salt and pepper shakers) and promised he wouldn’t throw up, yup, he did. They were crazy! How could you not? I mean, eat all that good food, get thrown and tossed in the air, get shaken up and down repeatedly and NOT throw up? It was a recipe for disaster.
Right now I am sitting in a darkened hotel room with my wonderful husband sleeping away from today’s beach walk (easily 10K steps), boardwalk food and general beach day, typing away on my laptop wondering why and what makes me love this place so much when my knees are aching, my tummy is full and I can’t sleep. Oh, and my back hurts because I miss my mattress at home with only one pillow here and a rolled up beach towel pretending to be a pillow. It can’t be the long walk to the water, the boardwalk walk with the crowd of people, and the constant worry of if my car is ok across the street. It’s looking at the bright colors of the neon lit ferris wheel circling around and around, the late night music coming from the bar downstairs, the smells of fresh fudge, and the promise of the swim in the ocean tomorrow, oh, and the free pedicure. I wish my mom would come and remember with me more, maybe it would remind her of happier times too.
I am very grateful my parents felt the need to pack us all up, pile us all into the station wagon, save up money, drive down here, and let us experience the times of our lives, to be remembered always. Thanks mom and dad! Thank you for creating these memories for me, I appreciate it always and will never forget. If you can, try and create memories for someone else, they will thank you for it!
Month: August 2017
Oil and Water Really Don’t Mix!
Oil and water really don’t mix. You can put them in the same container and shake them together for a nice salad dressing but they will never be the same scientific mixture. My dad was oil, I was the water. My dad was thick, older, set in his ways, hard to budge. I was younger, still learning to let things roll off me, (thanks Mindy, still remember that metaphor), learning to let go and let him be. We always butted heads. I said black, he said white. I said stop, he said go. We were exactly the same, I think that is why we found it hard to get along. I am not a victim, or helpless, and I am not asking for your compassion, but I had a very hard time growing up trying to please him. I was never “daddy’s little girl,” NEVER. I always had to learn the hard way, I actually see it as a blessing, taught me to fight for the things I want.
My dad was a social butterfly, always had a joke for everyone, always lit up a room at a party, always had everyone laughing, even me sometimes. But behind the scenes, when no one was around, he was an angry, grouchy, grizzly. I did learn from him though, I try to deliver the same light-hearted attitude to people I meet. He seemed to always find something wrong with me, why wasn’t I doing this right or that yet? I know he loved me, he just didn’t know how to tell me, or show me. He grew up with a rough and tough father who yelled and screamed everyday at him all the time, at least that’s what I’ve been told. He was a different person when no one was watching. It was always a bet to see how long it would be before he would show his true colors to the new spouse in our family. Even my stepdaughter was so surprised the first time she heard him get upset! I know he loved me though. I told him all the time I loved him, I wanted him to hear it, even when he didn’t return the sentiment. I remember the one time he said he was proud of me. When I received my master’s degree. I still get a tear in my eye thinking about it.
We always used to tease each other. His birthday was August 26th, mine is September 5th, very close to each other. I am a teacher, I used to spend a lot of time at their house in North Carolina because I was off! My tease to him was always leaving on his birthday to come back home to PA, that was his birthday present, that I was leaving. He would say its the best present I could give him. It sounds super sad, but we did love each other. He was proud of me. I know he was. He told me. He got the last laugh. He died on my birthday in 2012. I don’t think he meant to die on that day but isn’t it ironic? I love you dad, even though you didn’t know how to show me, I know you did.
We are all blessed with people we miss desperately. Let’s be thankful for the time we got to spend with them.