Texas Gulf Coast | Michigan | Christmas | Florida | Jessica | Sam
A Day At The Beach
by
Jim ShahinIn summer, people go to the beach.
Unless they live in Texas, where it's always summer and
summer itself is something else entirely.
What I may remember most about my boyhood
Christmas vacation to
Florida is the sight of my grandfather lying contentedly on the
beach
in his longjohns. He wasn't wearing only longjohns, of course. He
was wearing dress trousers over them. We only knew he was wearing
longjohns because they peeked out from beneath his smartly creased,
cuffed slacks.
Let's never mind about the pants. My grandfather was a formal guy
and those were different times. The thing here is the longjohns.
My grandfather lived in
Michigan, where the cold was unrelenting
and the snows had been blowing for some time now and would be
blowing for some time more. In Michigan, winter isn't a season;
it's a vicious animal that tears savagely at your flesh for
interminable months. You don't mess with winter in Michigan.
Somebody in the family asked my grandfather why he was wearing
longjohns in 83-degree heat. He replied without a trace of
condescension in his voice, even though he was no doubt bewildered
and troubled that his own flesh and blood would ask him a question
with such an obvious answer. "It's winter," he explained.
I learned then that the sway of the seasons is a powerful thing.
Which may explain why this summer, despite living in Texas, I took
my wife,
Jessica, and 11-year-old son,
Sam, to the beach. No sane
person goes to the Texas Gulf Coast in the summer. That's because
in Texas it's always summer.
Related Topics:
Print this Article |
