By Georgia Osten
…but nothing like this. I grew up in Port Arthur, population back then was in the 70,000’s. I guess I knew a lot of people, but more people knew who I was, or especially who my parents were. Oh yes, I would be observed by many, usually doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, and Oh yes, I would be reported. The consequences weren’t too bad being basically an only child. Well, I did have two step brothers 4-8 years older than me. They would report any of my wrong doings as well. Mom would pretty much give me a stern talking-to, but nothing from my step father who was a little afraid of me (or Mom) – chuckle, chuckle.
I remember going out on Sundays to cruise “the drag.” Up and down Proctor Street, all day long, honking, waving at the same group of kids, back and forth. Some kids would stop in a parking lot to watch the constant trail of cars so we’d honk and wave. Sometimes, if we were stopped at the same red light, we’d gun it and pretend we were racing. I drove a stick shift (not very well), and my car would sputter and spit “off the line.”
We do pretty much the same thing these days, except we’re out on the beach. Sometimes we drive the golf cart down to see the “sitters,” but mostly, especially on holiday weekends, we just sit with our chairs facing the traffic and people watch. When we’re not on the beach, just going about our merry lives, say to The Big Store, or to work, or the post office, it’s common to run into people we know. We talk, we visit, share stories, maybe partake in a little gossip, nothing malicious mind you. I always know I’ll run into someone I know. A simple trip to the store for milk and eggs can evolve into a good 30 minutes. A trip to drop off something at Second Going can take a full hour.
I hardly ever miss the big city, where a trip to Kroger or HEB involved a good 15-20 minutes just in drive time. The only good thing about never seeing anyone you knew would be the fact that you wouldn’t have to brush your hair or put on a clean t-shirt. I still don’t brush my hair or put on a clean t-shirt because everybody knows how I am anyway, but I always have a pair of flip flops at the bottom of the stairs!
(published 10/14/2014)
GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you.
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