Another Summer at the Beach

As the days lengthen into summer, and the trees are once again that full blown green, I feel that calling that I get every summer. The calling to return one more year to the beach and watch the sunlight dance across a million waves while I stand with my toes dug deep into a sandy shore. A rather interesting calling to have every year, since I grew up in the age of Jaws and am deathly afraid of sharks.

A few years ago I bought a dive knife, and keep it tucked in my suit whenever wading around looking for seashells. It gives a great sense of security against sharks, or even malevolent tourists, and I counted my blessings as all five of us piled into the car for one more trip to the beach.

We chose Biloxi this year, rather than the usual Florida white sand beaches. Although not as brilliantly beautiful, Biloxi has a charm of its own. Biloxi is much closer to the mouth of the Mississippi, so its water is much muddier and the sand much darker. But when the kids were small they loved the Mississippi coast because you can be miles off shore and still be in waist high water. A daring feat at 3 years old to be so far out in the sea.

Tumbling out of the car onto the bright sunny beach, I rented an umbrella chair, bought a Coke from the man in the hut, and sharpened my dive knife before wading into the water. My two sons who had been beating each other up in the car, tumbled into the sand and then into the water while continuing to pummel each other. The joys of brotherhood at the seashore.

As my daughter and I waded around and pointed at fish, she asked when her brothers would stop the jujitzu match. Other beach people were watching, and we were beginning to draw a crowd. I knew they would eventually tire of fighting and point at fish with us, but I did consider selling tickets. My husband continued to wade far out into the water. I explained to her that he was going to see how far he could go. Men do that.

So, being the resident cosmetic expert, my daughter reached down into the mud and grabbed my elbow. Telling me it was great exfoliation, she buffed my elbows, my shoulders, my face, with putrid smelling mud, while telling me how great it was for skin care. No matter how loud I screamed or how fast I swam, she could swim faster and my exfoliation continued.

Pausing long enough to hear her lecture on proper mud exfoliation techniques, the two boys grabbed handfuls of mud and, grinning widely, began to exfoliate each other with the apparent goal of skin removal. I didn’t believe they would ever gain employment in a spa.

The commotion stopped as we noticed my husband waving his arms far out in the water. Thinking he was being attacked by sharks, I began heading out to save him. But I realized I had left my dive knife in my bag on the beach. If I went back for the dive knife it would take a very long time and he would be eaten. But if I just went out to help without it, then I might be eaten. He didn’t seem to be screaming too loud, so I figured it mustn’t be a really nasty shark, I could probably just punch him.

Leaving me to rescue my husband, the boys shrugged off his shark attack and went back to grinding sand in each others faces. As I approached the buoy he was at, he didn’t seem to be in any distress at all. I asked about his shark attack and he said he had merely been splashing a bumble bee. Instructing him as to proper bumble bee splashing and how not to impersonate a shark attack again, we headed back toward shore.

The afternoon turned to evening and we gathered our stuff and piled back into the car. Another glorious day as a family at the beach. I had made one more year of having the five of us intact. One more year of splashing in the waves. And one more year of piling in the car after a summer day, wonderfully tired, sand covered, sun soaked, and with perfectly buffed, heavily exfoliated, and glowing skin.