Under The Boardwalk

So,childhood summers were spent at the Jersey Shore. A bit south of the infamous MTV show of the same name.

We traveled in herds, our parents had no idea where we were for most of the day and the lasting legacy of this generation of fun in the sun is two-fold. A deep understanding of friendship and family, and a guaranteed annual income for the family dermatologist. We have been carved up in more places than we care to describe (my nose is a dead ringer for a gnawed turkey leg at the end of the Thanksgiving feast) and one brother has experienced melanoma. But something more important than our tribal scars, we carry with us comforting memories of lazy days, of each other's fears and joys and what it means to be a member of an extended family.

My grandparents owned the house next door. The cousins and my family sometimes shared the same roof (depending if the sisters were delighted with each other or less than enamored), sometimes we spilt the summer by months and sometimes one group was with my grandparents while the second group had their own abode. My grandparents house had real furniture, with beautiful rugs and lovely china. We had linoleum floors, sofas that had been around the block a few times and wicker chairs. No matter what house we had to dress for dinner - okay meaning a collared shirt and no jeans. We always sat down to a real meal and we always ate together.

My mother had this thing for Jersey tomatoes. Nothing like it in the world. We would even take them back to Connecticut with us at summer's end. That is another story for another day - the flat tire, the Jersey tomatoes and the tow truck. I think my mother came close to leaving us behind and taking the Jersey tomatoes. We had them at almost every meal. Sliced tomatoes everywhere and the meal wasn't a meal if we didn't say grace and have the tomatoes with my mother commenting on the soil, what farm stand had the best and whether it was the height of the harvest. Really, I was too young to understand mantras, but I know now my mother had a tomato mediation theme. The piece da resistance was when she made Chili Sauce for canning. Makes my mother sound like Betty Crocker which isn't quite accurate, she was one of the original proponents of processed foods. (Probably why they are living so long - my parents are semi-petrified). But Chili Sauce was her thing - an all day affair with the cutting boards, Ball Jars and flipping the lids to ensure a tight fit. Christmas presents for all and chili sauce at every family gathering.

One evening, my darling brother, Jim, decided that I needed to have a lesson in global politics.

It was the beginning of the cold war streaming into our beings. Russia was going to take all our shoes - at least that it is what I thought when I saw Kruschev take his and slam the table - and once our shoes were gone - they were going to send us to work in the factories and wear those red scarves everywhere. (I look terrible in red, very concerning to me)

Jim and I were sitting at the water's edge at dusk. I noticed a blinking light on the horizon. What could that possibly be? Jim informed me the Russians were invading the US and the point of entry was our beach on the Jersey shore. OH NO - what to do. Head home and tell Mom and Dad. Immediately chastised for my selfishness, my trusted older brother said it was important to have their last hours be happy ones. Really, if Mom wanted one more evening with her chili sauce she should have it, who was I to ruin her last hours of joy. Made sense to me so I ran to the house, and dove under my bed (not too comfy with the linoleum floor) and spent the night with the sand and the spiders. Imagine my surprise when the next morning I awakened to one more day at the Jersey shore and no red scarves anywhere. When I questioned Jim, my trusted source, the invasion force decided that last night was not the night but it could happen anytime. After a few nights, I forgot the threat and realized the bigger issue in my life was picking the individual weed quota. Years later, I realized it was a buoy that I had spotted that fateful August evening.

Other stories abound, like running through the DDT clouds when the crop duster planes sprayed the beach (really, one wonders about our mental capacity - so much for Catholic school education), determining if the duck head was on or off during the airport trip to greet our grandfather (worth 5 bucks if we guessed correctly) or watching my oldest brother's first forays into dating (not exactly smooth, although he thought so).

But here is the real situation. We laid the groundwork for life. While so much swirls around us, I realize that we have each other - we have each other's backs. Perhaps we should all have a little of the Jersey Shore. How fortunate that my grandparents had the good sense to bring us together, to exhibit to us the importance of each other and creating our own binding history. We all have our moments but I actually like my brothers and sister, I even like who they married. Their children are pretty cool too. Maybe I wouldn't have this, if it hadn't been for the Jersey Shore.

So, here is my situation, I am glad for the wide beaches, the white lifeboats but most of all, for my family.

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