Ahhhh….Memorial Day Weekend.
Nothing says,”Summer is here!” like the final days of May. ( I don’t care what the calendar says.) People begin to flock to campgrounds and lakes and state parks and, best of all, beaches.
Starting this weekend, Moms and Dads everywhere will be shoving one last cooler into the back of the minivan and strapping one last bike to the back of the RV (That makes 5 bikes! Is that safe?) as they round up the hyper-excited kids and pile into the vehicle for the long hot ride to America’s favorite summer time destination by the sea.
People love the beach for a lot of reasons, I guess: the sun, the surf, the lazy days of laying around doing nothing but wandering into the lapping waves and then wandering back to your beach blanket and your big Barnes and Noble bag of juice boxes and suntan lotion and Bugles and Funions. It’s a time for us hard-working citizens, tethered to our kids by responsibility and duty, to let a little air out of our ever-running sails and to sit our fat asses down in the great outdoors for just a few days.
Of course, no matter how much we plan our family trips to the seashore, no matter ho detailed and precise we are with our visions of how our vacation should go, something always goes wrong, huh?
These days, I just accept it as fact. When I get to the shore, one of my kids is going to get bit by a rabid horseshoe crab and my wife is going to get sand in her eye that lasts six straight days and me….I’m going to get yelled at by a teenage lifeguard less than half my age as he blows his whistle at me and points at me and has the whole damn beach staring at me while he makes overzealous hand gestures telling me to get away from the jetty that is a hundred yards away from me and I am standing in ankle-deep foam.
Nowadays, I just relax and let the salty air blow right through me and laugh.
Because the beach is a really really funny place.
And here are the pictures to prove it.
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