Chapter 10: The Family Beach Vacation

Ch 10. The Family Beach Vacation

Vacations are exciting endeavors, even in the smallest of families. The extended family vacation is even more fun. Ours consisted of bringing loved ones together at agreed-upon oceanside resorts, where there was plenty to do, plenty of hotel rooms and plenty of restaurants to choose from.

Somehow, year after year, we ended up gathering in one person’s room, repeatedly chose the same restaurant, always needing a table for twelve (waiters cringed when they saw us) and, at least once, each of us was coerced into an activity we really didn’t enjoy. But togetherness prevailed. 

We allowed my daughter to bring her best friend. They got a hotel room of their own. I only entered their room once, about four days into the trip. The heat was on in the room, wet bikinis were piled on the floor, the carpet was sandy, beds were littered with wrappers and empty soda cans and there was a stray cat in the bathroom. I turned pale and walked out, calling over my shoulder, “Dinner in ten. Meet us at the car!”

In the brochure, the beach looked like a wonderland − powdery, white sand and beautiful blue water; in reality, it was hot, gritty and swarmed with people being knocked like bowling pins in the crashing waves. We didn’t care. We were on vacation! We settled our blankets and chairs next to folks who played their music too loudly. We ate sandy sandwiches from the cooler. We envied the toned and bronzed lifeguards. We ogled the beachgoers who should have worn bigger bathing suits. We put gobs of sun block one another after our shoulders and faces turned beet red.

Boardwalk amusement rides were also a hit in our family. The little ones went on the kiddie rides, and we adults tried to prove we were cool by going on rides that the teenagers chose. The spinning centrifuge with the drop floor was my least favorite. I became nauseous, convinced that my lunch would be splattered all over my fellow riders. I managed to get through it without vomiting and walked to a trash bin, swaying and queasy. A woman got to it before me. Unfortunately, the trash bin had a cover. I watched her squeeze her head inside it and barf sideways.

The rides provided your standard thrills to sun-soaked vacationers. There was the haunted house, which smelled moldy. There was the human slingshot, outrageously overpriced to deter the weak-of-heart. There was the pirate ship, which you had to race onto to get the best seats, hoping the chagrined folks wouldn’t spit when it was their turn to be upside down, and the high-tech roller coaster that twisted and looped over perilous ocean waves.

Then there was the small, metal coaster that made you wonder how it was approved by whoever inspected amusement rides. Rob climbed in, all six feet four of him, was knocked around like a marble in a tuna can, and complained of bruises to his knees, shins and ankles later that night.

When we tired of the rides, we moved to the arcades. These were the casinos of the boardwalk, except the winnings were not as good. Flashing lights, a cacophony of bells, buzzers and music were at seizure-inducing levels. But at least it was air-conditioned. Flip-flops and bathing suits were the only required clothing. There were men with hairy backs holding crying toddlers whose diapers were swollen with seawater. There were hundreds of teenagers playing games with skill and finesse we could only dream of possessing. Video games certainly changed since I was a kid! The games portrayed buxom, scantily clad women, frightening looking thugs and an arsenal of firearms that would make the NRA proud. Our family spent more money there than anywhere else. My daughter showed off her skills by spending eight dollars of my money trying to lower a claw to capture a one-dollar stuffed bear.

Walking the boardwalk was a challenge. If you weren’t careful, you could be enticed into getting a tattoo or having something pierced by a surly fifteen-year-old. You could also be coerced into purchasing a bong or a hookah pipe (for tobacco use only, said the signs.) If you were strong enough to resist those items, you might not have resisted the hecklers who ran the boardwalk games. They seemed intent on humiliating you into testing your dexterity by throwing an improbable plastic ring around a soda bottle or shooting a basketball through a rigged rubber hoop. And hey, if you didn’t want to win one for yourself, maybe you wanted one for the lady?

Just when we realized our wallets were empty, the children whined that they were hungry. Boardwalks planned brilliantly and placed ATM machines on every corner. Here we could buy one slice of pizza for the cost of a whole pie at home. We stuffed our faces with funnel cakes and ice cream as we walked around wearing the least amount of clothing we ever had in front of our in-laws.

Lounging at the hotel in the evening was a welcome reprieve. The adults decided to get tanked, while the children did cannonballs in the hotel pool. I volunteered to make a run to the wine store. I was feeling pretty saucy, looking smashing in a forties-style black and white tankini. I parked on the street and strode inside, smiling at everyone. I was disappointed that the clerk didn’t card me. When I got back to my car there was a forty-dollar parking ticket on my windshield.

As for activities, my daughter and I had the brilliant idea of playing miniature golf on a ninety-five degree day. For some reason, we didn’t have many takers. But my brother Matt, who was always a good sport, accompanied us. The heat was relentless. By the eighth hole, we were hallucinating. It was the first time I’d ever gotten sunburn on my feet. My brother soaked through two shirts. We cooled ourselves in a fishpond and the mini golf manager yelled. We raced to finish the game while looking longingly across the street at the water park, where most of our family was.

“I won, I won!” shouted my daughter, after she calculated our scores. She jumped up and down. Matt was already at the car, opening windows and blasting the AC. I collapsed in the vehicle, nearly faint with heat stroke. Matt said, “I think the tops of my ears are burnt.” 

I thought with a smile “Ah, vacation.”