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Me (with glasses) and my family on the Wildwood boardwalk, 1989. |
Wildwood Days
“It’s far beyond a star, it’s near beyond the moon. I know beyond a doubt, my heart will lead me there soon.”
- “Beyond the Sea,” Bobby Darin
Whenever I hear the familiar lilt of that beautiful song, my heart leads me to my own special place somewhere beyond the sea. Once I am there, I wrap myself in the fondest, warmest memories of my youth.
I see orange wisps of clouds floating across the setting sun. I hear the squawks of the seagulls being fed on the beach. I smell the salty brine of the ocean just outside our door.
As a child, I left footprints in the sands of Wildwood’s beach. Those footprints have long since eroded, but my memories are clear as the summer sky. The summers of my youth meant spending wonderful family time on the Jersey Shore. More than 20 of us drove the seemingly infinite distance down the Garden State Parkway to be together at the end of every summer. It was a final chance at fun before returning to the world of work and school.
From my perspective, we were the happiest group in the world. I reflect on Wildwood in nostalgic terms today: it represents a simpler, cherished time in my life. I like to think that things always can return to how they were every time the family was together in Wildwood.
Some mornings, we would walk barefoot on the cool sand to get breakfast. Others, a quick bite in the room would suffice. We stayed on the beach most of the morning, digging our toes into the damp sand and letting the water come up to our ankles as we sat in our chairs. Sometimes we would dig a hole far from the ocean and see if we could go deep enough to find water. Sometimes we would bury a cousin or an uncle.
As day turned to night, the temperatures dipped from a scalding heat to a comfortable cool. Showers were necessary for all, considering the amount of sand and sweat and chlorine that accumulated on our bodies during the day. We would dress in our nicer clothes, be complimented on our ever-brighter tans, and enjoy dinner.
The excitement during the meal was undeniable and unbounded. Dinner’s conclusion meant a trip to the boardwalk, where bright lights, sweet smells, and happy sounds greeted us like old friends we had not seen for a long time. We usually drove the several miles to the boardwalk, but sometimes we would take an open-air trolley. The summer breeze in our faces as we made our way to this paradise was a special treat.
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Me at 1 year old, on the boardwalk, still in a stroller, getting more ice cream on my face than in my mouth. |
On the boardwalk, we rode thrill rides, played games and stuffed our faces full of French fries, funnel cakes, candy apples and ice cream. There was no better place to be a kid than Wildwood.
But all good things must come to an end.
On the last day of each summer in Wildwood, we would fly kites. As kids, we would marvel as their plastic flaps drifted closer and closer toward the sun and became a speck in a vast canvas of blue.
All of us were kites. We allowed ourselves to fly high for a time before having to be reeled back to reality and packed away until the next summer.
The end of our vacation in Wildwood was always sad. It is sad thinking about it now, too, how, through many tears, we had to say goodbye to each other and the summer after each glorious stay.
We have not been to Wildwood since I graduated from high school. My mother says today – stating the obvious – that all the times we had at Wildwood were truly wonderful, and that some day I will make the same memories with my own family.
I will, but those memories probably won’t be in Wildwood.
Truth be told, my beloved Wildwood is now a shell of its former self. Its best days are behind it. Its best days, though, are not behind me. They’re still burning warmly in my heart. Yes, anytime I want to feel that cool sea air, or see the stunning orange and purple hues of the sunset, I just close my eyes, and without a doubt, my heart leads me there.
