As a kid living with my Grandma, about the only thing we could afford to do
during the summer was go to the beach. A
few times we went away for a real vacation, like the summer I was twelve when we
went to Disneyland, but for the most part, we stayed close to home, often heading
out to Rockaway Beach. Grandma would
make sandwiches the night before and in the morning put them in a small cooler
with some Cokes to take with us. We would leave early and take the train. Once we got to the beach we would set the
blanket out on the sand and Grandma would sit in her chair with her great big hat and sundress
and we would have fun; me splashing in the waves or tanning myself reading Goosebumps
books or looking at all the older guys in their Speedos and Grandma reading trashy
romance novels and listening to Frank Sinatra on her old Walkman. Man, those were great times.
In high school, a bunch of us would go and hang out at the beach all day – me
and the guys would play handball while some of the girls watched (they didn’t want
to get all sweaty, but they forgot the ocean was only a few dozen yards away). Sometimes me and a few buddies would play late
into the evening and then go for a quick dip after the lifeguards had gone.
So now, whenever we get the chance, Ian and I pack a cooler, hop in the car and head to Riis Park for a day of people watching.
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