Life's (NOT) a Beach

I hate the beach.

There – I said it. No more side-stepping the question or hiding from the truth. I’m putting it out there for everyone to see, hear, feel and know: I unequivocally despise the beach.

Of course this isn’t the easiest thing in the world to admit. After all, my wife loves the beach, as do at least four of my kids (I’m pretty certain that my son Kevin takes after me). Plus, it’s “the beach” – the one place universally associated with summer and fun and relaxation and all that other good stuff that everyone everywhere around the world enjoys. So to say that I hate it is not an easy thing… but it is the truth.

I don’t know when it all started, really, because as a kid we always spent time down in either Old Saybrook or Misquamicut. My brother and I would play in the water and catch crabs in the jetties, while my mother sat in her chair and read her books for hours… upon hours… upon hours. I liked it when the Italian ice truck showed-up, and I’d sometimes even grab a milkshake or some clam fritters at the snack shop; but by and large, it was all kind of monotonous. Some people can just lay there on the beach all day and relax – but even as a kid, I couldn’t.

As I grew older and even more idiosyncratic, the reasons for my aversion became all the more obvious:

·         The Sun. Yes – I know it’s essential to sustaining all forms of life (human and otherwise), but really: does it have to be so bright? And blinding? And hot? Which brings me to another point…

·         The Heat. You know what’s better than being outside in the heat? Not being outside in the heat. Sure, summer is supposed to be hotter than winter. We’re closer to the Equator or the sun or something like that having to do with the earth’s axis – but is it really that much fun to sit outside and boil when there’s a perfectly acceptable alternative (i.e. staying inside and not boiling)?

·         The Sand. It’s impossible to walk on, it coats the inside of my car, and three weeks later I’m still finding it in bodily crevices I never even knew I had.

·         Sand Flies. Because sand isn’t bad enough on its own, it has to have little gnatty pests flying around inside of it.

·         The Water. People piss in the ocean. Hell, even I’ve pissed in the ocean. Am I really supposed to swim in that?

·         Suntan Lotion. Messy, gooey and completely unnatural.

·         Sunburn. First it burns, then it itches… then you start to peel your skin off like an f’n rattlesnake. And as if all of that’s not bad enough, you’ve also increased your risk of cancer.

·         Finally, there are the Seagulls. I’m afraid of birds. All birds. Even little birds – like those teeny, tiny ones that fly away the minute you take a step toward them. And if I’m afraid of a teeny, tiny bird that flies away the minute you take a step towards it, I’m more or less petrified of those ginormous seagulls that fly right up to you and grab the food right out of your hand.

So yes – I hate the beach. But make no bones about it: when my wife and kids want to go, I’ll still go - stumbling across the sand in my Nike’s, sitting upright in my chair under two umbrellas, leaping to my feet every time the mere shadow of a seagull enters my airspace – because that’s what you do for the people you love*.

*An adage I hope my wife remembers next time there’s a new Jason Voorhees/Michael Myers slasher-flick out in the theaters.