Surfer girls-NOT!

 Family at Corona del Mar, 2021

There was this summer, or maybe two summers. There was this time now called tween’s, when I was still a kid but beginning to feel changes coming. My friend Beth was a bit younger. We were opposites that fit. We were the same in that we both had complicated families. 

That summer or summers we went to the beach. A lot. Her dad was a mailman and got off when he finished his route. So her family would pile the dog and the kids (including me) in the car and head for the beach. These weren’t high end beach days by any stretch of the imagination. It was towels and a blanket on the sand, an ice chest of beer for dad, and maybe some snacks. 

The beach was Malibu, but forget the images of surfers and celebities, that was the north side of the pier. We went just south of the pier. Surfing wasn’t allowed there, but if it had been they still wouldn’t come. The waves were too gentle and broke too close to shore. This was why Beth and I loved it. 

It was easy to get past the turbulent crashing part. Just beyond the waves rolled in the most wonderfully, rounded swells. There we would bob up and down like fishing floats. Our toes would lift up off the sand, and then we would be gently set back down. Beth started half singing “Oop-dee-ooeeoo” to this motion. I would join in and that would lead to singing every song we could think of. 

Beth’s parents also were foster parents. They had actually adopted a foster who came to them as a very young infant. At this time, Phil-Phil was around four. They also had chickens that had free run of their yard and patio, making the messes chickens make. 

One day, a special treat of treats, we were given some change to take Phil-Phil up to the end of the pier for ice cream cones. Flip-flops? Nah, we were tough canyon kids. Off we went, pausing to see what fishermen had in their buckets. We also stood at the rail and watched the surfers on “their side.” 

Finally, we started back, enjoying the cool smoothness of the soft serve on our tongues. Phil-Phil had a spoon for some reason. Maybe he asked for it, in that little kid logic way. About halfway back down the pier, he dropped a big spoonful of ice cream on the pier, and in a way that looked very purposeful, stepped his big toe right in it. He then looked up, all innocent, and said “Oops, I thought it was chicken s&!t!”

I heard a gasp from some outraged adult. Children just didn’t say things like that! Beth and I looked at each other, frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. 

Then we started giggling. We giggled all the way back to the blanket, eager to tell the tale. Soon her parents were laughing out loud. It became a story repeated often probably as much for repeating the forbidden word.

Too soon, those kinds of easy summer days ended. Kids grow, friendships change, families move away. Beach trips these days involve a lot more planning and steep parking fees. My grandsons, of a similar age now,  would never be left to bob in the waves or walk up on the pier alone. But they wouldn’t even flinch at the language.. 

I hope your summer is bright, joyful, and filled with making good memories. If you end up stepping in something squishy, may it prove to be cold and sweet. 

There was this summer, or maybe two summers. There was this time now called tween’s, when I was still a kid but beginning to feel changes coming. My friend Beth was a bit younger. We were opposites that fit. We were the same in that we both had complicated families. 

That summer or summers we went to the beach. A lot. Her dad was a mailman and got off when he finished his route. So her family would pile the dog and the kids (including me) in the car and head for the beach. These weren’t high end beach days by any stretch of the imagination. It was towels and a blanket on the sand, an ice chest of beer for dad, and maybe some snacks. 

The beach was Malibu, but forget the images of surfers and celebities, that was the north side of the pier. We went just south of the pier. Surfing wasn’t allowed there, but if it had been they still wouldn’t come. The waves were too gentle and broke too close to shore. This was why Beth and I loved it. 

It was easy to get past the turbulent crashing part. Just beyond the waves rolled in the most wonderfully, rounded swells. There we would bob up and down like fishing floats. Our toes would lift up off the sand, and then we would be gently set back down. Beth started half singing “Oop-dee-ooeeoo” to this motion. I would join in and that would lead to singing every song we could think of. 

Beth’s parents also were foster parents. They had actually adopted a foster who came to them as a very young infant. At this time, Phil-Phil was around four. They also had chickens that had free run of their yard and patio, making the messes chickens make. 

One day, a special treat of treats, we were given some change to take Phil-Phil up to the end of the pier for ice cream cones. Flip-flops? Nah, we were tough canyon kids. Off we went, pausing to see what fishermen had in their buckets. We also stood at the rail and watched the surfers on “their side.” 

Finally, we started back, enjoying the cool smoothness of the soft serve on our tongues. Phil-Phil had a spoon for some reason. Maybe he asked for it, in that little kid logic way. About halfway back down the pier, he dropped a big spoonful of ice cream on the pier, and in a way that looked very purposeful, stepped his big toe right in it. He then looked up, all innocent, and said “Oops, I thought it was chicken s&!t!”

I heard a gasp from some outraged adult. Children just didn’t say things like that! Beth and I looked at each other, frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. 

Then we started giggling. We giggled all the way back to the blanket, eager to tell the tale. Soon her parents were laughing out loud. It became a story repeated often probably as much for repeating the forbidden word.

Too soon, those kinds of easy summer days ended. Kids grow, friendships change, families move away. Beach trips these days involve a lot more planning and steep parking fees. My grandsons, of a similar age now,  would never be left to bob in the waves or walk up on the pier alone. But they wouldn’t even flinch at the language.. 

I hope your summer is bright, joyful, and filled with making good memories. If you end up stepping in something squishy, may it prove to be cold and sweet. 

My daughter and I