I hate the beach. I hate going to the beach. I hate the heat.
I hate the mixture of sunscreen, sand and my leg hair. I hate sand in my hair, under my toenails, in the cooler, in the car, in my clothes, and always ending up somewhere in the house.
I hate…well…….I really don’t need to be surrounded by attractive, barely-dressed women.
I hate that I always forget sunscreen in some weird spot under my arm or behind my knee that ends up burnt and painful for a couple of days.
I hate walking without my flip-flops on red-hot sand.
I hate that my son likes to play in the waves, only because neither of us can swim and he isn’t concerned at all about getting sucked out to sea as he lays and jumps in the waves so I feel I have to be super-vigilant.
We went to Sandy Hook, NJ, last Thursday. Nice beach area. It wasn’t to crowded. Pretty day.
My wife loves going to the beach. The kids like it, as well, but would be content with a sandbox and an Elmo sprinkler, so I don’t really feel I am going for them but for my wonderful wife.
I tolerate it once a summer for her. I do enjoy watching the kids have fun but that’s about it.
The wife had been talking about it lately and we were going to go sooner or later. I had resigned myself to that fact. We halfway considered going late on the hottest day of the year (Tues). She’s from Louisiana so 101 degrees didn’t scare her even though there was a Heat Advisory.
I preferred last Thursday even though it was the day before leaving for camp. I had lots to do. She actually had a lot to do because she and the kids were going to stay at her folks. Laundry, packing, last minute stuff before leaving town. I needed to finish a couple of bulletins, prep for preaching on Sunday plus a bible lesson each day Sunday through Friday at camp.
I told myself I needed to go to the beach. I forced myself not to complain, make excuses, put it off till after camp. Even though I felt it might be reasonable to do it another time, she knows my hatred of all things beach. I couldn’t say no. After all, the following day was her birthday. I knew I needed to cooperate so she could enjoy the day. And so we went.
Here’s where the confession comes in. I was cranky. I agreed to go but my attitude left much to be desired. I was annoyed when the kids shoved their sand-covered hands into the cooler and dumped sand all over our sheet. I was too stressed trying to keep my son from drowning and was ready to come home.
The highlight of my day was meeting an Italian family and talking with the dad. A family from Parma did a house exchange with a family from Red Bank. They were riding the bikes and driving the car of the family who were staying at their home in Italy. And the guy complimented my Italian and I probably blushed from excitement.
So, here’s the summary:
- Agreed to take family beach: good
- Mr Grumpy-pants: bad
- Pride in my language skills: bad
What made me feel worse is that when we were loading the car, she asked, “you really hate going to the beach, don’t you?”
She was appreciative that I went even though I didn’t want to and didn’t put it off, even though she would have been fine with that. I explained that I hated to put it off since she wanted to go. She kissed me.
I have a great wife, and that’s good.