WILKES-BARRE — As the approaching week promises to be filled with high temperatures and sweat-producing humidity, I am reminded of my love of the beach.
Well, let’s say I do love the beach — except for the sand and saltwater.
Give me a backyard or hotel pool with a reasonable view of the ocean, and I am happy.
I guess it’s true that the older one gets, the less tolerant you are of things like hot, humid temperatures.
I support that argument because when I was a kid, my pals and I lived for those sunny, hot days. We would play ball, hike, play games, and then top it off with a swim before our Little League games.
Today, all I can say is thank God for air conditioning.
Heat waves seem to be much more intolerable than I remember from my younger days. I fondly recall heading to the Jersey shore almost every weekend to frolic in the sun and carouse at night.
But over the years, a few unfortunate experiences — one in particular — have lessened my level of affection for the beach.
That particularly unfortunate experience occurred in Ocean City, Maryland, where I really lost my love for the seashore forever.
I decided to wade into the waves off the point on what apparently was a day of rather high turbulence.
Anyway, as George Costanza from “Seinfeld” famously said in the marine biologist episode, “The sea was angry that day, my friends, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.”
After negotiating the waves for a bit, having them slam into me time and again, I got used to the ocean again. Actually, it was fun riding the waves.
And then those waves got really angry — the soup was more like a chowder.
One wave tossed me like a cork, down into the ocean’s bottom. I recovered, but before I could clear my water-filled lungs, another one — seemingly more powerful than a locomotive — slammed me from behind. I went down to the ocean’s floor again, this time with my head driven into the sand.
Just when I thought I might never figure out which way was up, I surfaced. I had sand in my bathing suit and seaweed in my mouth. One of my swim shoes was gone. And I had swallowed way too much saltwater.
As I staggered to the shoreline, two older ladies sitting on beach chairs immediately felt sorry for me. “Awww, look, he lost a shoe,” one said.
At that very moment, my missing shoe washed up to shore — like the sea was saying, “Here, take back your shoe. And don’t ever disrespect me again.”
I gathered up the shoe and tried to restore whatever dignity I had left as I searched for my towel. My friends — yes, friends — had witnessed this entire event. Some were in the ocean, others on the beach, all of them laughing hysterically. None of them realized, or cared, that I had almost drowned.
I was thankful I survived and that I would someday be able to tell this story.
I ignored my still-laughing friends, got my towel, dried off, and returned to the hotel, where I showered and took a nap. When I awoke, there was a pounding in my head — the angry sea had not left me. Some saltwater got trapped in my inner ear, and it became infected — adding to the joy of this trip to the beach, which, by the way, began with my friend’s car being struck by an out-of-control vehicle driven by a kid who said he couldn’t stop.
I haven’t returned to the ocean since. That’s sad because I do have some fond memories of those shore trips of my youth.
Anybody my age who went to Wildwood in the 60s and 70s remembers Uncle Lou’s — nothing like breakfast at Uncle Lou’s after a day on the beach and a night on the town. So many great times there, meeting friends back home, or new friends from places as far away as Montreal.
But I actually preferred Sandy Beach at Harveys Lake over the Jersey shore. Fresh water over salt water. A half-hour drive over three hours.
Even at the shore, I preferred to hang out at the rooftop swimming pool at the motel rather than on the beach.
These days, I’d rather enjoy the great outdoors from inside my air-conditioned car or through the windows of my air-conditioned home.
While I still feel my generation — for the most part — remains vibrant, there are adjustments that seem to come as a result of getting older. We still like to dance, go to concerts, and have a drink or two.
But 90 degrees and high humidity just aren’t for me.
So drink lots of water, stay cool, and savor those days of tolerance when conditions such as 90-plus degrees with humidity really didn’t bother you.
Make sure your air conditioner has been serviced, and rotating fans are operable.
Someday I will return to the Jersey shore, but it will be for scallops at Mayer’s in Cape May, a visit to the Premier Motel in Wildwood, and a walk on the boardwalk for salt water taffy.
And a dip and a nap at the rooftop pool.
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Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.