As I write this, I’m four days into a ten-day vacation (counting weekends) at the beach in Delaware. Thus far the trip has been (thankfully) non-eventful despite a persistent low pressure system that in addition to causing havoc at the U.S. Open has kept our actual beach time to a minimum.
This is our second year of what will hopefully become a family tradition: a week at the beach in my wife’s grandmother’s condo, aka the “Sand Dunes,” just over the dune from the ocean. (Although I have a feeling that this will become one of those things that was sweet but short-lived; we’ll wax nostalgic and say “Remember when Nana had the Sand Dunes and we stayed there when the boys were little? That was so much fun.”)
Last year the Perry Boys were but toddlers on the beach, but this year they’re preschoolers and are a step faster both mentally and on the hoof. We took them, along with their Aunt Meg and New Jersey cousins Haley and Ben Liberto (we call him Ben ‘Berto) to the playground last night after a father’s day dinner of pizza celebrated with Pop-Pop and Mom-Mom. But it wasn’t just any playground—it was one of those institutional plastic and painted metal modules where it’s well nigh impossible to watch your kids due to the sprawling and intricate placement of steps, slides, stairs, tubes, tunnels, fences, and walls spread over a third-acre or so. (Think the handicapped accessible playground at Penn Forest Elementary with 100 screaming tourist kids on it.)
Realizing that the only way to attack the playground was with a zone defense—man-to-man would prove impossible due to the enemy’s fortifications—the three parents and two grandparents took up strategic positions around the perimeter. As the children passed from section to section, we’d call out their locations and hand them off to the next adult down the line as another child entered our radar screen. “Haley’s coming your way! I’ve got Seth…where’s Kevin? This way, Ben!” I don’t recall my mother employing these kinds of organized pack hunting techniques to guard her own young, but that was a simpler time, I guess. We didn’t have an SUV or Twitter then, either.
So far this morning, Seth and I have already been to the donut store in Ocean City, Maryland, which makes these hot hand-dipped donuts that have probably been outlawed in New York and California due to their trans-fat content. These along with the pizza and other beach treats like caramel popcorn and a few Coronas will necessitate another of dad’s 30-minute runs down the beach road this afternoon, if my aching right leg obliges. The trip to the donut store was followed by a stop at CVS to get an eyeglass repair kit to fix Seth’s broken sunglasses, but we emerged with a plastic beach toy, too. Funny how that happens.
Still to come, we have visits with old friends, fishing in Pop-Pop’s little Boston Whaler, and a bonfire on the beach. And there’s still that pesky weather. But this morning, it’s four days in and all is well. Keep the star lit for us, and see you back in town next week.
