Again and Again and Again…
Last summer I was sitting on the beach eating an ice cream sandwich and watching a man in his early 30s hurtling his young daughter up and down in the surf. This was clearly entertaining her immensely, and every time Dad caught her, she would scream, “Again!”
Well, if anyone was being “entertained” by this, it was clearly I. When my daughters were little, I would do the same exact thing with them. Endlessly. Over and over again. In fact, if my daughter had not yelled out “Again!” (which she never failed to do), then I would have looked at her and asked “Again?” myself. I had as much fun doing the throwing and catching as they did flying though the air.
So, I admit there was a bit of melancholic nostalgia watching this. My daughters are older now and it’s been years since I’ve been able to toss them in the air.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Here I was, getting all sappy over days long gone with my daughters, when I realized it used to be ME who used to get thrown in the air on the beach. That there actually was a time when I was that small and so many years had gone by, that moment might as well have been another life. As if I visualized it in my mind, it would appear as a scene in a black-and-white movie.
There’s something so timeless about the beach that makes it so easy for the love of it to be passed from generation to generation. Yes, the size and shape of it changes. From summer to summer, there might be a slant that wasn’t there the year before. And then there’s the dredging.
Bathing-suit styles have changed over the century. The bikini wasn’t even invented till the mid-’40s in Paris and didn’t become mainstream to the mid-’60s when Raquel Welch and Bridget Bardot start wearing them onscreen. (Thanks, God!) And I’m not even going to bring up the occasional dude you’ll see in a thong. Ugh!
Then there’s the beach chair, which has gone through constant innovations. My current beach chair has a cup holder on one arm, and a slot for my cellphone (more on that later) on the other, a sun-protecting roof that goes up and down, and a pouch on the back for magazines.
Let’s talk about those cellphones. Twenty years ago, they barely existed, and now the entire beach population is buried in them despite the fact that often you have to sort of read them underneath your shirt. (Will someone please explain to me how Kindle has a screen that’s easily readable in the sun but our phones don’t have that same technology?) And that one arm slot hole was always there. So, what did we use it for before the cellphone?
Not to mention the fact that you can now bring a small portable speaker to the beach that plays music trough your iPhone.
Then there are elaborate tents, umbrellas, coolers, Contigos, beach caddies, fishing gear, kites, boogie boards, kayaks, and god knows what that didn’t get lugged down back in the day. And I love the nutjobs who even bring a flag with a pole. It might be an Irish or Italy flag. Your high school or college. I’ve seen “Game of Thrones” banners.
Let’s get back to throwing kids up in the air in the water, which is the main point of this article. I guarantee you moms and dads and uncles and aunts have been doing this from the very first time they laid eyes on the ocean in this country in the 1800s. Which means what? That if you are sitting in a beach chair and watching this ritual and your back is to the crowd of beachgoers, the view is the same view that you would have gotten a couple hundred years ago. And that‘s at the very least. I’m only really going back to the establishment of Atlantic City, which kicks off the history of the Jersey Shore vacationer.
My daughter Keely and her husband Matt gave birth to two beautiful twins a year ago, Jameson and Lucy. This was their first summer at the beach and they loved it. Immediately and unconditionally.
And guess what was the first thing I did with them? I threw them up on the air in the surf. I didn’t quite totally let go of them yet, because they’re a little too tiny, but that will come next summer.
Now, if a photo of these babies and me is framed correctly, it might as well be a photo from the 1900s. Nothing will look different about that photo. It’ll just be me, the babies and the ocean. It might as well be 1953.
One little difference. I think there are about four existing photos of my mom on the beach. Maybe 10 of me. About a hundred of my daughters.
But the twins? Because of the iPhone, THOUSANDS!
There will new beachfront homes in Avalon and Stone Harbor next season that will alter the view if you’re looking in that direction. Maybe there will be a new wrinkle on the beach chair. One thing for sure that won’t change will be grownups tossing kids up in the air in the water.
And the world goes round.
