The Sea! The Sea!
Nov. 5th, 2004 12:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcI don't remember learning how to swim. Nor do I remember being unable to swim. In fact, most of my early (<5 years) memories are linked to the beach.
We spent our summers--most summers, and all after I was about 8 years old--in the clan residence in Rockaway. The day before the Last Day of School was spent tossing clothes into Hefty bags (Oirish luggage), whilst Ma packed kitche stuff into boxes. The bags were infinitely practical: they smushed nicely, making it easier for Da to see in the rear view mirror. And allowed for separation between boys, when me and the brothers were ornery.
My brothers were almost always ornery, but in a classic young boy way.
The Last Day of School was really only about 3 hours. A quick lunch, then we were in the car for the hour drive to 114th Street. Everyone was sniffing at the air, hoping be the one to "smell Rockaway" (the sea) first. When we hit the Cross Bay Bridge (now the Addabbo Bridge), we were literally bouncing in our seats. A few minutes later we were at the Cross Bay Veteran's Memorial Bridge, which linked Broad Channel to Rockaway. By then we were all laughing and shouting--even Da was smiling--and moments later we were at the house and unloading the shite.
Beach days were lovely. We'd be on the beach by 11h00, and often stayed until 16h00--especially when it was 40C and wicked humid. The Mothers would create a semi-circular encampment near the water, to be able to watch the little ones. I meet women today who parent without this breadth of support and I think "wow, that must be hard." Our Mums watched over us all and could relax--it was all covered. They had rules though:
-no swimming until 30 minutes after eating
-until you were 8, no going in above your waist (unless an adult takes you)
-at any age, no deep (over your head) swimming alone
We travelled in mini-packs, so not much of anything happened alone. Sometimes we went to the back of the beach (by the boardwalk, where we dug pits, played sports, or just took turns burying one another in the sand ("Michael! Don't bury your brother's head! I mean it!"). We spent hours in the water, mostly bodysurfing, though I'm not unfamiliar with a regular surfboard. At the end of the day we queued up on the front porch, waiting for our turn in the solitary shower. It was located under the porch; as wee babees we thought nothing of being wrapped (only) in a towel, in the front yard, yapping away while we waited our turn. With about 60 people in the house, the only rule was 5 minutes per shower per person--multiple kids meant multiple times. So often a gaggle of boys or girls were tossed in together, with a Mum outside to keep us on task. "John! Shampoo your head! Tommy! Use soap! Let's go--people are waiting!" We'd towel off our heads, then return to the front porch to dry in the later afternoon heat. Soon thereafter some of the Dads starting arriving home from work.
As we got older, we kids started making our own camp towards the back of the beach. Discrete coolers of ice cold beer were kept, and as we crept towards the drinking age (18), our parents didn't seem to worry too much. We weren't driving, we all knew each other, and we all watched out for one another. In fact, our family's reputation for fiery love and loyalty was at times commented upon. "You Egans love each other so much you don't need anyone else to love you" one suitor told my cousin Maureen once. He almost had it right: we Egans love each other so much we aren't desparate for any and all emotional scraps and bones tossed our way. I have no problem with that . . .
As a teen I spent hours playing volleyball at the back of the beach, followed by hours of bodysurfing. Some of our crowd stayed on the boardwalk, where the party always ended up in the evening. A couple of hours after sunset the wind became a strong offshore breeze, making for lovely, long, fresh nights. Only to be replaced with biting heat and humid by 09h00 the next morning.
Spring is giving way to summer here in Sydney. We've had a trip to the beach already, though it wasn't quite hot enough to get me in the water. But I get just as excited about bodysurfing, lolling about in the sun, and hanging with family at the beach. My own family.
But it seems awfully quiet, compared to what I'm used to.
We spent our summers--most summers, and all after I was about 8 years old--in the clan residence in Rockaway. The day before the Last Day of School was spent tossing clothes into Hefty bags (Oirish luggage), whilst Ma packed kitche stuff into boxes. The bags were infinitely practical: they smushed nicely, making it easier for Da to see in the rear view mirror. And allowed for separation between boys, when me and the brothers were ornery.
My brothers were almost always ornery, but in a classic young boy way.
The Last Day of School was really only about 3 hours. A quick lunch, then we were in the car for the hour drive to 114th Street. Everyone was sniffing at the air, hoping be the one to "smell Rockaway" (the sea) first. When we hit the Cross Bay Bridge (now the Addabbo Bridge), we were literally bouncing in our seats. A few minutes later we were at the Cross Bay Veteran's Memorial Bridge, which linked Broad Channel to Rockaway. By then we were all laughing and shouting--even Da was smiling--and moments later we were at the house and unloading the shite.
Beach days were lovely. We'd be on the beach by 11h00, and often stayed until 16h00--especially when it was 40C and wicked humid. The Mothers would create a semi-circular encampment near the water, to be able to watch the little ones. I meet women today who parent without this breadth of support and I think "wow, that must be hard." Our Mums watched over us all and could relax--it was all covered. They had rules though:
-no swimming until 30 minutes after eating
-until you were 8, no going in above your waist (unless an adult takes you)
-at any age, no deep (over your head) swimming alone
We travelled in mini-packs, so not much of anything happened alone. Sometimes we went to the back of the beach (by the boardwalk, where we dug pits, played sports, or just took turns burying one another in the sand ("Michael! Don't bury your brother's head! I mean it!"). We spent hours in the water, mostly bodysurfing, though I'm not unfamiliar with a regular surfboard. At the end of the day we queued up on the front porch, waiting for our turn in the solitary shower. It was located under the porch; as wee babees we thought nothing of being wrapped (only) in a towel, in the front yard, yapping away while we waited our turn. With about 60 people in the house, the only rule was 5 minutes per shower per person--multiple kids meant multiple times. So often a gaggle of boys or girls were tossed in together, with a Mum outside to keep us on task. "John! Shampoo your head! Tommy! Use soap! Let's go--people are waiting!" We'd towel off our heads, then return to the front porch to dry in the later afternoon heat. Soon thereafter some of the Dads starting arriving home from work.
As we got older, we kids started making our own camp towards the back of the beach. Discrete coolers of ice cold beer were kept, and as we crept towards the drinking age (18), our parents didn't seem to worry too much. We weren't driving, we all knew each other, and we all watched out for one another. In fact, our family's reputation for fiery love and loyalty was at times commented upon. "You Egans love each other so much you don't need anyone else to love you" one suitor told my cousin Maureen once. He almost had it right: we Egans love each other so much we aren't desparate for any and all emotional scraps and bones tossed our way. I have no problem with that . . .
As a teen I spent hours playing volleyball at the back of the beach, followed by hours of bodysurfing. Some of our crowd stayed on the boardwalk, where the party always ended up in the evening. A couple of hours after sunset the wind became a strong offshore breeze, making for lovely, long, fresh nights. Only to be replaced with biting heat and humid by 09h00 the next morning.
Spring is giving way to summer here in Sydney. We've had a trip to the beach already, though it wasn't quite hot enough to get me in the water. But I get just as excited about bodysurfing, lolling about in the sun, and hanging with family at the beach. My own family.
But it seems awfully quiet, compared to what I'm used to.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 03:49 am (UTC)stop my brain...
Date: 2004-11-05 07:33 am (UTC)"The sea o the sea, it's geal grá mo chroí,
Long may it roll between England and me.
'Tis a sure guarantee that somehow we'll be free
Thank God we're surrounded by water."
...and the verse:
"The Scots have their whiskey, the Welsh have their leeks,
Their poets are paid about ten pence a week
Providing no harsh words gainst England they speak
O Lord! What a price for devotion!"
MAKE IT STOP!
Re: stop my brain...
Date: 2004-11-05 03:28 pm (UTC)HMMG!!!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 11:44 am (UTC)