Driving to the Beach

Many of my blog pieces seem to revolve around going to the beach. This is yet another one. It is a short story about a fond memory.

When Ann and John were small we often went to Topsail Island, NC for our summer vacation. We would leave as soon as the Gwinnett County Swim League Championship meet was over.

One year John was on a relay that was scheduled for late Saturday afternoon. It was an 8-hour drive to the beach and check-in for the beach cottage was 3-6pm. Ann, Jean, and Grandma headed for the beach after Ann’s morning swim so they could get the key for the beach house. John and I headed for the beach in a separate car after his afternoon swim.

John and I left from the pool in Snellville, GA around 4pm. John wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but fulfilled the roll of navigator with gusto. Whenever we traveled we always made sure that Ann and John had maps so they could follow along. They kept us informed of our progress and made sure we didn’t miss important turns in the route. We always gave them jobs they could handle, and navigator was just that sort of job.

Since John and I left so late, and I was the only driver and needed breaks along the way, our ETA was well after midnight. The fond memory is simple and silly. I remember it was way after 10pm and we were driving along on some deserted two-lane road in the middle of nowhere North Carolina. The moon was full, it was a beautiful summer night, we were making good time, and there was no traffic. We rolled down all the windows, stuck our heads out, and howled at the moon with everything we had. We gave our best imitation of hound dogs at the top of our lungs with the wind in our faces. It was great fun!

I hope John remembers that simple moment as fondly as I do. I think it was one of my, no, OUR better immature moments. Perhaps we are moments away from yet another one. You have to grow old, but you don’t have to grow up. I resemble that.