Hi Neighbor,
Depending on the day, I am a big fan of humanity or I’m not. When a tsunami hits and relief funds pour in from all over the world, I think people are basically good. Six million Jews decimated in Europe? Not good. I can say I am never a fan of humanity when it’s in my face. I don’t like crowds which brings me to today. I am on a wide east coast beach teeming with humanity, on a holiday no less. I am more of an ocean person rather than a sandy, hot beach person but the former is hard to find without the later. I am drawn to the ocean for all the metaphors that can be summoned; it’s vastness and hypnotic rhythm.
I park myself and my towel between groups on the biggest patch of free real estate I can find. I finish my sandwich, read my book until the sun and the heat puts me into that beach fugue state. Face down on my towel I am held hostage to the conversations around me.
“Can you say Aunt Julia… Aunt J-U-L-I-A?” Baby is mute. I don’t look up but from the conversation I have surmised this is a first-time Mom and her sister and a baby, obviously a pre-walker.
“Do you want to go into the wah wah?” Baby is mute. Who can blame her? Wah wah?
“See honey you pull this out and then push it in. Like this? See?” Hmm. A new -fangled sippy cup? I don’t think the baby caught on. I have a perfect idea in my head of what this child looks like. A little Budda sitting lotus-style on a wad of slightly water-logged diapers, in a little white bonnet, gumming a Pepperidge Farm goldfish. Too curious to resist, I lift my head. Yep, nailed the baby.
“F- the Eagles, man.” “For Christ’s sakes, Frankie watch your mouth, there are children here.”
A family of New Yorkers but I can’t place the accent. By the tenor of the voice, the woman is a smoker. I sit up. Frankie, et al and there are a mess of et al(s) have clearly been to the Giants football store. Insignia caps, towels and water bottles abound. Two umbrellas over I learn that the food at Debby’s wedding was better than at Sandy’s and apparently cousin Annie’s dress was slit far too high for Grammie’s taste.
I scan the beach. The college girls are baking in their tans, wordlessly flopping from stomach to back. They already have boyfriends so the tan is just vanity. The pre-teens stroll the tide line with their towels wrapped around their waists. They are strutting their new bodies in new bathing suits, hoping to reel in a vacation boyfriend or a first kiss they can tell their BF’s about on the first day back at school. I must admit the Dads cavorting with their kids in the surf is a joy to watch.
It’s getting to be late afternoon and the humanity around me is beginning to thin out, lessening the cacophony. I pick up my book when I hear some sort of commotion, some shouting coming my way. A frantic Mom and Dad can’t find their little boy, The mother is nearly hysterical and the Dad is gasping out red bathing suit, six years old, Michael, to anyone that can hear. It’s 87 degrees out but I get goosebumps. There is no lifeguard and my Mom gene instantly re-activates.
Strangers have started jogging, scanning the sand and the water. Mothers stand up shading their eyes with their hands looking right, left, left and right, pivoting in place. Even the college girls sit up as the new Mom holds her baby tighter. Frankie and his cadre get up to help, while the woman with them kisses the cross around her neck and yells, “Frankie, Joey, Tito… go, go go. I join the search. Michael…. red suit.
Ten minutes later Michael is found, hidden behind some dunes trying to dig a hole to China. I see the Dad drop to his knees in the sand, hands together in a thankful prayer, looking heavenward. Me? I start crying like a baby, my own personal tsunami. Frankie comes over to me and hands me a beer in a Giants koozie.
“Gee thanks. Crazy huh?” I sniff. I notice Frankie is a little misty too as he and I clinked cans.
“Go “Giants,” I say not knowing jack about football. I do know this; it is a good day for the home team.
Be well and be kind,
Susan
All NJ beaches have open can laws which prohibit alcohol. Lucky you didn’t share a $2,000. fine as well as the celebratory beer.
All NJ beaches have open can laws which prohibit alcohol. Lucky you didn’t share a $2,000. fine as well as the celebratory beer.
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