Summer Saturdays

Summer Saturdays

         I lived in Delaware most of my childhood. My family and I, and usually a playmate of mine, would go to Rehoboth Beach on summer Saturdays. It was a long ride for kids our age (at least thirty miles), but when we got there, it was worth it.

         Blankets were spread on hot sand, portable radios ran full blast, coolers filled with snacks and drinks had been brought, and most importantly, there were waves to ride! In my opinion, anyone not familiar with this experience has not lived. Wet, squishy sand between your toes, icy water at first, breakers trying to beat you back out, all are memories I wouldn’t trade for a million dollars.

         Not too far out, there would be a slight drop-off. This was where sand was washed out by breakers. Once I got past this point, real fun began. Waves twice my height were bearing down on me. As soon as one reached me, I had to jump and ride over it. What a feeling, like when I was little and someone picked me up over their head, then slowly let me down.

         Sometimes, if I wasn’t looking, a wave would sneak up on me, and I would have to dive into it. Then my knees got skinned up and I might swallow some salt water. I didn’t mind at all. I loved it so much, someone would have to come drag me in even if a thunderstorm came up.

         We napped going home and woke to wrinkled fingers, sand in our swimsuits and sunburned faces and necklines. We could hardly wait until next Saturday to do it all over again.


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