The Non Beach Enthusiast Guide to Enjoying the Beach
A photo of pure childhood euphoria sits on a shelf at my parent’s house in Brooklyn. It is of me and my brother, holding hands, running away from the waves at Virginia Beach.
Our faces radiate pure joy as our floppy wet socks leave a trail that resembles the tracks of a rabbit’s hind feet instead of the recognized foot prints of two children in flight.
When I think about joy, I think of this photo.
When I think about joy, I think of my fifth grade class trip.
Our teacher took us on the train from Chinatown in the Lower East Side to Brooklyn’s Coney Island. For some of us urban children, this was the first time we went to the beach.
As if we were rats on the train tracks, instead of building castles, we dug tunnels into the sand and pretended that we were digging a passage to China.
In the class photo, I noticed that I did not take off my socks.
When I think about joy, I think about the first time my son felt sand under his toes at the beach.
