Unfortunately, when people die, so do their memories. Truly, if stories aren't told and WRITTEN DOWN folks, then stories disappear. Forever and for always.
It doesn't help that a succession of women died in my family and women tend to be better memory keepers. Traditionally and more often, men are pulled away from the home. I always joke (ha!) that I'm tethered to it. Like with boy scout knots and heavy iron chains. Stuck behind fortress walls made of laundry.
So without a mother and down a sister, I needed to call my dad to complete my partial memory. He said he remembered the event vividly. Yes! But then was sort of spotty. Oh well. I forgive him. It happened a long time ago. At least he knew more than me.
First some background. My family spent one week of every summer at the Jersey shore. Every summer. One week. Usually Ocean City. We would load up the wood-panelled station wagon and still somehow cram in a family of six. Then we would leave at the crack of dawn to avoid traffic, drive straight to the Point Diner in Somer's Point to eat breakfast, and then go immediately to the beach because it was still super early and you can't get your rental keys until afternoon. My head spins when I contemplate the logistics. Getting all those kids changed. Maneuvering around a packed car. At least we didn't bother with sunblock application in the 70s. Present day, that takes up a ridiculous amount of my life.
Once we were in the house and our vacation was underway, we followed a predictable pattern. We always ate crumb cake from Dot's Bakery in the morning and Campbell's for takeout seafood at least once during the week. Every day we went to the beach from morning 'til dusk. You rarely went back to the house. We came for the crashing waves and foamy trails that sparkle in the sun, for the warm salty breezes and leisurely pace. So suck it up and eat your sandy sandwich! First to stake our umbrella. Last to fold up our chairs and leave. It was hardcore.
Now for the story.
One summer when I was about four and Gail was ten, we went outside to play after returning from another marathon day by the ocean. When we didn't come back inside, my parents called for us. When we didn't respond, they went searching the neighborhood and then the beach. Nothing. We were gone.
According to my dad, they ran around the neighborhood and to the house of friends a few blocks over. The friends then recruited more people and soon a giant search party was yelling our names. My dad doesn't remember calling the police, but I thought they did. We were missing for more than an hour. I can't imagine the fear.
Meanwhile, up the beach about a mile, Gail and I strolled happily. When we were playing earlier, she pointed out lights in the distance. The way the coastline curves, we could see the boardwalk all bright and glowing. It didn't seem far. Gail decided we could walk to the rides at Gillian's Wonderland Pier and be back in no time. I grabbed her hand and off we went.
An hour into our hike, a woman walking her dog on the beach approached us and explained that our parents were frantic. She helped us back to the house. There was a joyful reunion. My dad says we didn't get in trouble. End of story.
Here are a few things I take away from my now less partial but still not completely complete memory. (I wish I could ask Gail what she recalls or get my mom's perspective.)
#1 How scary for my parents! We lost Edy for roughly five minutes on the beach a few years back and I nearly fainted from worry. Got seriously dizzy until the lifeguard said, in a calming voice, "They always turn up."
#2 Taking me without parental permission was typical Gail and that's why I'm particularly fond of this memory and think about it a lot. She was idealistic, impulsive, hopeful and fun. She saw nothing wrong with promising her little sister a trip to the boardwalk. Alone. In the dark. Who can be reasonable when a ferris wheel beckons?!
#3 Being the youngest is great! You're not just surrounded by uptight adults analyzing your every move, you also have crazy siblings adding moments of levity. Even if you never make it to the ferris wheel. It's about the journey, right?
I was updating Lu's iPod yesterday and found this video she shot of Bea exactly 18 months ago. I can't believe what a tiny baby my baby was... and how much she drooled. Ewww. Yes, older siblings can be quite entertaining. "Thank you very much, San Diego!"
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