A Family Day at the Beach

“Your listening to 2 Triple R FM, and It’s now four minutes past eight as we cross to Paul at the weather bureau for today’s forecast,” declared the radio announcer.

“Thanks Tim, well it’s going to be another heat-wave today folks; with a top temperature of 36º on the coast, and 39° out west; that’s a whopping 102° Fahrenheit for some of our international visitors,” reported Paul the weatherman.

I rolled over and nudged my wife Vanessa, “Did you hear that?”

“So I wasn't dreaming then?” she replied from her side of the bed.

After a brief committee meeting it was resolved that a family day at the beach was in order.

Now, I don’t know about your family, but if I wasn't responsible for the choreography, it would take our family three hours just to reach the car. Some of the many comments made prior to us vacating the house were:

“Honey, does my bum look big in this?”
“I’m going to have to shave my legs before we leave.”
“Dad, can Peter come with us?”
“Dad, that’s not fair, if Peter can go, I should be allowed to invite one of my friends.”
“No problem, I will quickly pop out and buy a bus.”
“Honey, do you think the cheese would melt if I were to take cheese and tomato sandwiches?”
“Can we take a football with us?”
“Can I take my kite?”
“Can I take my bucket and spades?”
“Dad, can I take my body-board?”
“Should we take the fold up chairs?”
“Forget the bus; I think we may need to buy a semi-trailer.”
“Are you sure my bum doesn’t look big in this?”
“Who needs to go to the toilet before we leave?”

The car trip to the beach only took fifteen minutes; however it took a further twenty minutes to locate a parking space.

Looking every bit like a family of immigrants who had just arrived in their new country, we stumbled down the sand hills with our quarter of a ton of “essentials”.

“Isn’t it amazing, it’s only 9:35 and there is almost no space left anywhere on the beach,” Vanessa observed.

“Well once we dump this lot on the sand, the beach will be officially closed,” I replied sarcastically

Vanessa and I began to unpack the bags as the boy’s ran off to the water.

“Blake, keep an eye on your brother until I get there,” Vanessa shouted.

“Honey, before you go, where did you pack the sunscreen lotion?” I asked Vanessa.

“I thought you packed it,” said Vanessa, as she ran off after Jack.

I thought for a moment, should I take my life into my own hand’s and attempt to fight my way through the jungle of sweaty beach-goers that separated me from the shop, or should I stay where I was and obtain third degree burns. As I was side-stepping my way through the crowd I couldn’t get over the fact that we brought just about everything that was bolted to the house with us, but couldn’t remember to pack the most important thing. Then I thought; we probably wouldn’t have been able to squeeze it into the car anyway.

After what felt like a two hour journey, I finally arrived at my destination. I selected the product I required, and handed the girl twenty dollars. She gave me six dollars change. After confirming that I had received the correct amount of change, I walked off muttering to myself that I only wanted to buy a tube of the stuff, not controlling shares in the company.

The world’s most expensive 100 gram tube of sunscreen lotion, and I, finally arrived back at our camping site, when just as my posterior was touching down on the golden surface, I noticed Jack barging his way through, and I do mean through, the sea of sun bathers that were in his path. Waving his arms around like a windmill, Jack proceeded to declare at the top of his voice that he wished to visit the toilet. As he had managed to gain the attention of the human debris left in his wake, we had quite an attentive audience on hand to hear his historical declaration.

After having chastised my five year old human wrecking ball for his anti-social styled arrival, I subtly interviewed Jack regarding the motivating force behind his requested visit to the aforementioned facility. I was quite relieved once I had established that there may be another option available, as I didn’t really fancy another trek through the city of beach-goers.

I carefully steered my son around some very anxious looking members of the public; who were still coming to terms with the aftermath left behind by Hurricane Jack.

When we arrived at the water’s edge, I instructed Jack to enter up to his waist and to allow nature to take its course. Well, anyone would have thought I had asked him to dive into a Piranha infested swimming pool.

“Dad!” he screamed. “I can’t go in there, you always told me to never do it in the pool.”

“I know mate, but this is different to a pool,” I explained.

“Why?” Jack inquired.

“Well, it’s a lot bigger, and the waves come in and take everything out to sea every few seconds,” I replied.

“When I throw my football into the waves and they take it out, another wave brings it back in,” Jack offered.

“That’s different,” I suggested.

“Why?” Jack persisted.

“Look mate, you really are being a little silly about this; it’s not such a big deal,” I said, with a hint of frustration in my voice.

Just as our conversation was becoming more animated, Vanessa and Blake appeared out of the surf.

“What’s up?” asked Vanessa.

After explaining the Mexican stand-off that Jack and I had reached, Vanessa quickly and miraculously managed to get Jack to see reason. There is a great deal to be said about the calming, yet persuasive influence a mother has over her young child.

Jack dutifully proceeded to enter the heavily populated water to a little over knee height, and then to our horror, he proceeded to lower his swimming costumes so that he could perform the delicate procedure.

Like Secret Service agents on Presidential detail, Vanessa and I quickly sprung into action and crash-tackled the suspect before a weapon was produced.

We quickly realized that we had both neglected to furnish Jack with some of the minor, yet relevant details.

Confused, Jack now wanted answers.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded to know.

We tried to explain to the young exhibitionist that he needed to practice a little more discretion. A very emotional Jack then explained to us, that what we were suggesting was never EVER going to happen because only babies did that. At this point, Blake, a very self conscious teenager, asked his mother which one of our son’s was adopted, as he believed it was not biologically possible for him to be related to Jack. Vanessa assured Blake that she was indeed present for the birth of both our children.

I instructed Vanessa to contact the Helicopter Rescue Service if Jack and I were not back within two hours. I was by this stage on first name terms with some of the folks that I passed on my latest north bound adventure.

We eventually returned to our base where I intended to apply some sunscreen lotion from the company that I acquired earlier on. Just as I was about to squeeze the precious tube, Vanessa appearing extremely anxious ran up to us.

“John, I can’t see Blake anywhere,” she spluttered.

“How long has it been?” I quizzed.

“At least five minutes, at one stage I was right next to him in the water; and then all of a sudden I couldn’t see him,” she continued.

After running back to the shore-line; we frantically looked into the water. Squinting through the sun’s blinding ray’s as the knot inside my stomach began to tighten; it became apparent to me that my son had become a mere needle in a floating hay-stack.

Vanessa, with tears building up in her eyes; ran off to the Surf Lifesaving Tent for help. Within seconds, she returned with three Life-Savers who started firing off questions with machine-gun like speed.

“How old is he?”
“What is he wearing?”
“Mate, what’s his name?”
“Was he by himself?’
“Sir, did he have a surfboard or body-board with him?”
“Does he use a wrist strap with the board?”
“Is he a very strong swimmer?”
“Have you checked whether he has gone back to where you were sitting?”

A female Life-Saver remarked to Vanessa, who was starting to cry uncontrollably by this stage, that everything would be okay, and that this type of thing happened all the time. The eldest of the three Life-Savers; who had been communicating with the Watch-Tower via two way radios, advised me that they had not spotted him. He went on to say that the foam board attached to his wrist would make it easier to locate him if he were in trouble.
I couldn’t help but think they should be doing more; after all, I had the staring aimlessly out to sea part of the rescue completely under control.

As the would-be rescuers were peering through their binoculars for our missing boy, someone bearing a striking resemblance to Blake saddled up alongside me and enquired; “What are you guys looking at?”

A wide smile appeared on the faces of all the Life-Savers as they calmly returned to their post.

After Vanessa and I conducted a colonial inquest into the disappearance of our first born, we discovered that Blake had recognized a friend from School walking along the beach; and simply went to say hello.

I decided that I needed to cool off both physically and emotionally, so I dived into the surf whilst the family headed off to build sand castles. Even though the water was full of sea-weed, and the fact I felt like a sock in a crowded washing machine; I was enjoying spending some time by myself in the refreshing water.I hadn’t realized quite how long I had been in the water until I noticed my wrinkled fingers.

Feeling hungry, I decided to pay the sand castle builders a visit. As I approached the construction site, I was greeted by Jack, the Chief Engineer; who guided me to the entrance of the Eighth Wonder of the World.

I couldn’t help but think how much the structure looked like a cross between The Great Wall of China, and The Grand Canyon.

“Dad, guess what it is?” asked the young engineer.

“Um, ah – well,” I stuttered.

“It’s the Cosa-liam Dad,” Jack declared excitedly.

“You mean The Coliseum, don’t you Jack?” Vanessa inquired.

“Yeah, the Cosa-liam,” Jack agreed.

“That’s exactly what it looks like mate,” I lied.

“Honey, I know its not even Midday yet, but I could eat a horse and chase the Jockey at the moment,” I commented.

Vanessa pointed me in the direction of the cheese and tomato sandwiches.

“In response to your earlier question, yes the cheese will melt,” I informed my wife as I picked the sticky-goo from my teeth.

“John, did Paul the weatherman mention anything about a thunderstorm in his forecast?” Vanessa asked, as the wind sand-blasted my cheese and tomato pizza.

As some very dark cloud’s rolled in, the wind intensified to such a degree that our “essentials” were blown away. Like a retreating battalion of soldiers; wet and scantly dressed bodies swiftly packed what personal belongings they could catch, and ran for the hills. Blake’s body-board was officially declared a weapon of mass destruction, whilst Jack’s kite was due to touch down in New Zealand at 4:00PM (EST). The Coliseum was now referred to as Ground Zero, as the fold-up chairs auditioned to replace Jack’s kite. As we dragged our remaining personal effects up the sand-hill of life, I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was all worth it.

With the exception of Jack dropping his ice cream on the back seat of the family bus, our journey back home was incident free.

Whilst unpacking the car, I suggested to the boys that perhaps next time they could consider leaving some sand behind at the beach.

It wasn’t until the warm water touched my skin whilst I was having a shower that I realized I never did get around to applying my hard earned sunscreen lotion.

“You look like a walking tomato,” Vanessa quipped, as she walked toward the bathroom.

“Well, your bum DOES look big in that,” I replied, underneath my breath.

Ouch! Well at least I thought it was said under my breath.