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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Why you shouldn't be a spectator at the parade of life. By J. G. Fabiano It has been an odd summer. I am not sure anyone else shares this feeling but there seems to me to be a bit of a pall over our summer season this year, as if we have all been experiencing it through a kind of a haze. It might have something to do with the aftermath of 9/11 or the uncertainty that comes from the collapse of confidence in the stock market, but whatever it is I don't like it. I have always found that the best way to get myself out of this kind of funk is to hike down to the beach, unfold my old beach chair and set it down where the water meets the sand. I find that a couple of hours of watching the world goes by helps restore my equilibrium. This time I went a step farther. I took a yellow legal pad so I could jot down my impressions. I should have taken a thicker pad! The people at the beach come in all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some are able to develop a deep bronze tan that will cause them problems later in life while others turn a painful bright red that will cause them problems now - like keeping them from sleeping properly for the rest of their vacation. I noticed that many of the people at the beach were doing a lot of walking this year. As I sat, anchored to my chair at the watermark, I felt like I was watching an endless parade of restlessness. I also noticed many different T-shirts, on the people who walked by, that advertised places like Bermuda and Martinique. A few of them were in languages other than English and had pictures of places I had never seen before. What I didn't see was any T-shirts that advertised York Beach. I know they sell them at many of our beach stores but I guess people keep them hidden away until they go somewhere else then put them on so the people there will wonder about exotic York Beach. Another thing I noticed was that many people who go to the beach now do not wear bathing suits. Fashion has decreed they wear shorts and a T-shirt and never go in the water to get them wet. Beach fashions have always astounded me. I have never understood why heavy people wear horizontal stripes and thin people wear vertical stripes. Not that I am in any position to criticize, mind you, as I sit there in my fashionably unfashionable combination of pajama bottoms and T-shirt. I was pleased to see how few Walkmans there were this year. In summers past I was baffled by the number of people who drove long distances to be at the beach then put on Walkman and headphones so they couldn't hear the sounds of the ocean. This year more people seemed willing to tune in to the sounds of the natural world - between bursts of ear splitting noise blasted out by buffoons in passing SUV's on Long Sands Avenue. Hats are big this year, I noticed. Until this summer the baseball cap with the curled peak reigned supreme but this year, there are all manner of variations on headgear, some of them apparently designed by aircraft engineers. One of the most popular hats this year is the safari hat with flaps to protect the wearer's ears and neck. Very sensible and probably very expensive when the same effect can be had by stuffing a one-dollar kerchief under a baseball hat. There were also broad-brimmed Bahamas-style straw hats with colorful bands that were more for style then for protection. I also noticed a lot of scarves in the style of the American flag wrapped around people's heads. I saw this a lot when I was younger, but usually as a form of protest, and it is reassuring to see it make such a strong comeback without any hint of irony. I also noticed that nobody walks empty handed anymore, for the sheer pleasure of walking. The young men, especially, seemed to need a prop of some kind whether it was an empty soda cup or a football they jiggled in their restless hands. Many of the women came with young children whom they pushed in front of them in a new-fangled carriage with big wheels, a kind of beach tractor jammed with the contents of the average suburban home. You can tell the serious young beach moms because most of them are running at a good clip, determined to get their bodies back in shape, pushing a three wheeled carriage in front of them, usually occupied by a kid whose eyes are wide open with either joy or terror as their screams are snatched away by the slipstream. I suspect a lot of these kids grow up to be Hells Angels! I have also noticed a lot more people holding hands as they walk the beach this year. Not just young people but older people who seem unashamed of expressing their closeness in public anymore. As if people have been made more aware of how temporary life is and aren't afraid to show each other, or others for that matter, how much they care. Maybe this is one of the good things to happen to our people in the aftermath of 9/11. I notice a lot more parents putting in time with their children at the beach too. Especially fathers with daughters. Often the father doesn't do that much; just helps build a sand castle or lends a supporting hand to a little girl braving the boisterous waves for the first time. Sometimes these fathers will offer words of encouragement but often they're just there, watching carefully while their legs turn blue in the cold Atlantic water. The daughters invariably stay close, happy to spend some quality time at last with a father who is often absent for the rest of the year, working hard to pay an endless tide of bills. I observed these moments with a special pang, wishing I could have had more of them with my own daughter as she was growing up, knowing how soon the moment of separation comes. I also noticed how many people sneaked curious glances at me as I sat there at the water's edge, scribbling diligently into my yellow legal pad. Maybe they were uncomfortable with the idea that I was watching them and making notes about them - and maybe they just felt sorry for me because I couldn't seem to stop working for a minute. I closed the pad and put my pencil down and leaned back to enjoy the sun and the surf and pretty soon that odd feeling of detachment left me. I was one of them again; back in the life stream, enjoying the moment, wishing it would last forever. The End
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