My father loved the beach. I didn’t growing up, but I was in denial. I’ve never wanted to be like my father. He was harsh, cold, sometimes even violent, and we lived in fear of his mood swings and alcohol induced rage. I am a lot like him, you see, and I don’t like it one bit. Inside of me there is something dark and unnamed that reminds me of him; the tendency for moodiness, reticence for affection, selfishness. Of course, he had another side that his family rarely saw. He could be the life of the party. He was funny and liked to pull pranks on his friends. He loved his grandchildren, but his children had too many times felt the sting of his heavy hand and ugliness of his temper to feel truly loved. Our trips to the beach for me were too much about him. I was unable to embrace that vast, roaring ocean as my own. Then he died. Life changed for all of us. In a way we were relieved that we could go on without his controlling eye, but when he left, he took every part of him: the ugly and the funny. I’ve often said you can’t argue with a dead man, even so, I began my long and unfulfilling journey seeking his approval and love. I never found it. I did, however, find the beach.
I discovered a place, courtesy of my brother that holds no ghosts for me. I first went to Salter Path the summer before my senior year of college, several months after my father’s death. At first I didn’t know if I would make it onto Emerald Isle because I have a fear of bridges. When I turned my car right off of Hwy 24 and saw that behemoth bridge that crosses the Intracostal Waterway, my heart stopped, but my mother urged me on and I made it over. How I laugh at that memory. I still don’t like bridges, but now I reserve that fear for the real bridges like those in Charleston or the Chesapeake Bay. In spite of the approach to the island, my first glimpse of the sound and the ocean never fails to take my breath away. One day, my ashes will float on the gentle, rippling waves of Bogue Sound.
My first trip to the beach was most undoubtedly in utero since I was born in August, near the end of the summer. We lived about two hours from the beach and day trips were not unusual. I have seen pictures of my parents and extended family members wearing bathing suits and sitting on picnic tables somewhere between here and the coast. From a very early age I can remember the pull of the waves on my short legs and the feel of tiny shells and sand in my swimsuit. The sea, sun, and sand meld into a magical medicine for my soul. When someone suggests that I go to my “happy place”, I instantly hear the crash of the waves and feel the tickle of beach sand beneath my feet. When I can’t sleep at night, I imagine the soothing rock of the ocean, floating weightlessly in the waves, until rest comes. Most importantly, in embracing my love for the beach, I have forgiven my father. I couldn’t for a long time. I had a lot of my own demons to exorcise and forgiveness stuck in my throat like a peanut butter sandwich. I want to say that with age comes wisdom, but writing that makes me want to roll my eyes! I have learned that we all have our hard things to bear, and while sometimes I think I’ve had more than my share (don’t we all think that?), I have crossed over to the side of understanding the value of those experiences, good and bad. God in His infinite wisdom gave us the promise of mercy that is fresh with each new day, just like the tides. We must show each other that same mercy. Have you ever left something on the beach, maybe a towel or a tee shirt? You thought it was safe high up on the sand, only to find it washed away when you came back for it? I love the beach early in the morning when the sand is hard packed and smooth with no footprints or half eroding sandcastles. Who knows what treasures await after the tide has cleared away the debris and leftovers of a busy summer day. And the winter: my favorite season for a respite at the shore! And so my love affair with the salt air and endless sea continues…..
I discovered a place, courtesy of my brother that holds no ghosts for me. I first went to Salter Path the summer before my senior year of college, several months after my father’s death. At first I didn’t know if I would make it onto Emerald Isle because I have a fear of bridges. When I turned my car right off of Hwy 24 and saw that behemoth bridge that crosses the Intracostal Waterway, my heart stopped, but my mother urged me on and I made it over. How I laugh at that memory. I still don’t like bridges, but now I reserve that fear for the real bridges like those in Charleston or the Chesapeake Bay. In spite of the approach to the island, my first glimpse of the sound and the ocean never fails to take my breath away. One day, my ashes will float on the gentle, rippling waves of Bogue Sound.
My first trip to the beach was most undoubtedly in utero since I was born in August, near the end of the summer. We lived about two hours from the beach and day trips were not unusual. I have seen pictures of my parents and extended family members wearing bathing suits and sitting on picnic tables somewhere between here and the coast. From a very early age I can remember the pull of the waves on my short legs and the feel of tiny shells and sand in my swimsuit. The sea, sun, and sand meld into a magical medicine for my soul. When someone suggests that I go to my “happy place”, I instantly hear the crash of the waves and feel the tickle of beach sand beneath my feet. When I can’t sleep at night, I imagine the soothing rock of the ocean, floating weightlessly in the waves, until rest comes. Most importantly, in embracing my love for the beach, I have forgiven my father. I couldn’t for a long time. I had a lot of my own demons to exorcise and forgiveness stuck in my throat like a peanut butter sandwich. I want to say that with age comes wisdom, but writing that makes me want to roll my eyes! I have learned that we all have our hard things to bear, and while sometimes I think I’ve had more than my share (don’t we all think that?), I have crossed over to the side of understanding the value of those experiences, good and bad. God in His infinite wisdom gave us the promise of mercy that is fresh with each new day, just like the tides. We must show each other that same mercy. Have you ever left something on the beach, maybe a towel or a tee shirt? You thought it was safe high up on the sand, only to find it washed away when you came back for it? I love the beach early in the morning when the sand is hard packed and smooth with no footprints or half eroding sandcastles. Who knows what treasures await after the tide has cleared away the debris and leftovers of a busy summer day. And the winter: my favorite season for a respite at the shore! And so my love affair with the salt air and endless sea continues…..
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