Have you ever built a drip castle? We built lots of 'em. It's like a sand castle, but doesn't require tools - a sort-of poor kid's castle. You use wet sand and you let it drip from your fingers as you shape lumpy spires and walls. I think the movie set of Mordor in Lord of the Rings was modeled after one of my drip castles. Buckets and shovels are for the less adept.
My brothers and I would mount our trusty, albeit skin-eating, canvas rafts as we bested the ocean wave rodeo. These rafts were made of some space age denim that would repel salt water, shells, and shark attacks. No cheap plastic rafts for us. No sir. Dad was only buying rafts once every ten years and these were the puppies to make that span. Every night, our legs were chafed and nipples worn completely off. That, combined with the sunburn that tends to accompany the combo of 8 hours of sun exposure and no sunscreen, made showers straight up torture. The nightly ritual of painful washing was followed by the Solarcaine lineup, when Mom would douse our glowing red shoulders, tummies, and feet with that inexplicable spray that burned, cooled, and rubberized within about 5 seconds. The window unit in our bedroom was a welcome relief when we went to bed. By the time we awoke, though, we were buried under our covers as the room was an igloo. Had a timelapse camera been installed in the upper corner of our room, it would have revealed the bizarre migration of the Red-backed Whipper Snapper - going from completely on top of the sheets and blankets in only a pair of pajama shorts to total burial beneath all nearby coverings, including clothes, towels, pillows, curtains, and anything else within reach. We'd have burrowed down into the mattress had we been able. Oddly enough, the layer of ice that tried to encapsulate our bodies would immediately melt from the heat radiating from our sunburns. Amazing how nature works, huh?
We logged hundreds of miles walking to, and out onto, the Surfside pier. This occurred at least twice daily. After all, you could only bronco bust waves for so long and drip castle building was quite taxing on our creativity. I'll never forget walking across those old beams and their wet wooden smell. The surface temperature on that pier was a couple of degrees from being too hot for bare feet. That meant that bare feet were fine in our minds. Always on the lookout for discarded fish hooks and casting pier anglers, we'd go from rail to rail to watch the crusty old salts try to land a keeper. I remember how peaceful it was when we reached the end of the pier. The roar of the waves was a distant hum. No squeals, yells, and the general murmur of a crowd could be heard out there. The occasional lap of a wave against a piling or the call from a seagull were the only sounds to accompany the views of darker waters and endless vistas that stretched for 180 degrees. I often long to be there in that unique tranquility. Our trek to the end of the pier and back always increased in speed, though, as the heat on our feet finally started to register in our brains. I guess salt water veins may numb the body's nerves.
Speaking of heat - the scorching bright white sand that led up to the pier always presented a problem. Akin to the "the floor is hot lava" game, the white sand predicament was a challenge that could not be overcome, and it was real. Eventually, we'd just decide to make a run for it, usually after soaking our feet at the water's edge. I think the presoak kept a layer or two of skin on our feet. Otherwise, we'd have been walking on bones by the time we reached the pier - quite possibly our knee bones. This sand was a few degrees from becoming glass and is the hottest known naturally occurring substance known to man. Hotter than lava. Hotter than fish grease. Hotter than black vinyl car seats in August, but just barely. By about the third day, the bottom of our feet would peel. Off. In small wisps of skin chips. I guess our feet were prepping for the next day's battle, like sending in wave after wave of battalions, hoping at some point the war would end and peace would once again reign in Soleland. Our skin reproductive capabilities were truly tested during the summer.
Somehow, overnight our burns would become bronze glows, the soles of our feet would rejuvenate, our chaffed groins would heal, and our nipples would regrow - just in time to recreate the whole debilitating process the very next day. A pattern that repeated incessantly throughout the summer.
It's what we did as kids. And it was glorious.
I'll take it over video games and cell phones any day.
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Aloha, amigos!
