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A couple of days ago I stated that I'm not one for the beach. To clarify, I really do enjoy the beach - it's the sand I don't like. And the wind. And having to spread junk all over your body as protection from the sun. Plus salt water, and the dangerous animals you either step on or that bump into you when you wade or swim in it. Other than those things I love the beach. There was one on the north shore of Lake Huron I liked because there were pebbles instead of sand, the wind was nothing more than a gentle breeze, the water was fresh...and since it was so cold you couldn't get in so the animals were no issue (other than bears coming from the other direction).
So what is the source of my aversion to the standard sand-and-saltwater beach? Could be because my father absolutely loved being there, and a great weekend or vacation for him was living on hot dogs over a fire and baking in the sun. One time we borrowed an old army tent from our Boy Scout troop - which had no floor - and us kids had cots with sand-infused sleeping bags in there overnight while the parents sacked out in a rented camper trailer. This took place on Padre Island...for a solid week. On the first day I was poking around the sand - literally, with a stick - and came across this pretty blue bottle. Upon poking the bottle I discovered it wasn't really a bottle; it squished in, and looking closer I discovered a gelatinous mass underneath. Scared me crapless and I ran back to the family camp as fast as I could, dodging more blue bottles along the way. That's when my brother Allan told me, "Oh, those are Portuguese Man-O-Wars, which can kill you if they sting you. You didn't step on it, did you? They're all out in the water, washing ashore." Yes, maybe that's when I stopped liking the beach...
But the memories from that vacation weren't all bad. I recall sitting by the fire at night and watching sand crabs run right into the middle of it, instantly roasting themselves. Attracted by the heat and light, Allan said. And those tall, huge sand dunes were fun to climb and do somersaults on the way back down. These diversions didn't get old until maybe about the third day, with four more days to go. By then we were all getting bored, so Dad had mercy and rented a dune buggy, which was fun for me until my brothers discovered the joy of running over and popping all the Man-O-Wars they could find.
During the summers while living in Orange my dad would haul us over to McFaddin Beach for a long day trip. He and Mom would sun bathe and get in the water sometimes, we'd picnic for lunch, and us kids were pretty much left on our own to do whatever we wanted. Digging big holes to bury ourselves in, making sand castles, and catching small clams to cook and eat with butter later at home were typical pastimes. My brothers were keen on body surfing so we always brought some body boards.
Unfortunately, though, the parents did not always keep track to make sure we were using adequate sun screen. One time, when I was 13 years old, after returning from the beach I was sunburned so badly that blisters formed all over my body. Big blisters that itched like crazy! What made it worse was that I didn't discover how bad it was until the second day at Boy Scout summer camp, after it had passed through the painful red (1st degree) stage. Since I could no longer spend any time in the sun, and because my dad wouldn't come fetch me, I had to spend the last four full days and nights in the infirmary. Fortunately it was air conditioned, and the doctor there treated the burns every day for the duration. Once in a while my friends would come check on me, but otherwise there was no interaction with the other kids in camp, and I forfeited all opportunities to earn merit badges, etc. Maybe THAT'S when I stopped liking the beach...
Be that as it may, most people seem to enjoy the typical sun-in-the-fun beach, and I tag along when social necessity dictates, making the most of precious time with family and friends.
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