The beginning of August may mean school is just around the corner for some while others are still waiting for the last summer trip to the beach to bask in the sun, relax with friends and family and jump the ocean waves. And now, thanks to 26 seasons of Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, we know precisely what is lurking under those waves. Which leads me to wonder why, oh why, does the Discovery Channel air Shark Week in early August at the height of beach season for so many folks? Why not in December when many of us are bundled up in coats and scarves sipping hot cocoa and dreaming of a white Christmas? Nope, those programming guys air hours of shark attacks, sea lion lunches and miles of surf and sand scaring viewers with what might lie right beneath your boogie board during the still hot summer weeks of summer. Of course the bigger question is why do I, a certifiable nut bag who is constantly borrowing the lifeguard's binoculars to determine if that dorsal fin belongs to a big, scary shark, or a kind, happy dolphin while my kids splash in the surf, sit up until 2 AM watching such a terrifying week of blood and horror at the height of summer? Well, it's simple...we aren't going to the beach this summer. With no beach trip I can safely sit on my couch watching Shark Week knowing full well, that even though we have a salt water pool, sharks can't get in there. Can they?
No beach trip this summer has certainly alleviated my shark attack fear (oh, and my riptide fear as well), but the downside has been the constant complaining from my children of "everyone else went to the beach this summer". Between our fellow beach vacationers having alternative plans this summer and the addition of a new puppy (who, by the way, has teeth almost as sharp as a Great White), no sandy beaches or ocean breezes for us this year. Yes, it's disappointing, yes it sucks when friends post their happy families having the time of their life at the beach on FB, Instagram and Twitter and yes, no beach sunsets and shark patrol binoculars has left a gaping hole in our hearts, but we will survive. The irony is, the one person who has grumbled the loudest is the one who hates the scratchy sand, the bright sun, the annoying wind and the sticky sunscreen that goes along with every beach vacation. Complaints, moans and groans from the kid who lasts about 20 minutes before he starts begging to go back to the beach house where he can sit inside the air conditioned bedroom and play video games. Regardless of the sensory overload the beach inflicts on Ryan's overly sensitive system, beach vacations have become part of our family's summer time routine, even though for years I was advised to try a trip to the mountains instead.
It didn't take long to discover that the beach may not have been the best vacation venue for Ryan. On his first trip to the beach, when he was about two, we were THAT family. The family that inevitably parks their numerous umbrellas, inflatable kiddie pool, cooler, enough toys to entertain the entire beach, and over-sized beach towels covered with sand routinely shaken in your direction, right next to YOU. The obnoxious family that has a crying, whiny child that the stupid, selfish parents refuse to take back to the beach house regardless of the impact it is having on your day. And to add insult to injury, throw in a CD player that played Thomas the Tank Engine (loudly) over and over and over again. Yep, we are, okay, we were, THAT family for many years. It's a miracle that the other beach goers didn't throw Dan and I into the ocean with a bucket of chum attached to our beach chairs.
Ryan hated the sun, but he also hated the feel of sun hats and sunglasses which would have alleviated some of the torture. Ryan hated the sand, but failed to recognize that rolling off the towel and into the sand would bring more sand and more wailing. Ryan hated sunscreen, but was too young to understand that crying and rubbing his eyes would only cause the sunscreen to burn his corneas which inevitably lead to more tears, more shrieks, more sand stuck to his face and more beach goers searching for chum. The only thing that soothed Ryan (to the detriment of anyone who had ears) was the Thomas the Tank Engine songs. I promise you, between Ryan screaming, my shouting and the Thomas music, it was the safest, shark free summer in OBX history. Even the sharks didn't want any part of this beach action.
As I sat in the sand with Ryan's giant head digging into my chest trying to block out everything beach, Denial sat there soaking up the sun, singing along with Ryan and assuring me that all kids act like this at the beach and I had nothing to worry about. As the sand slowly worked it's way into my "boom box", suffocating the cheery British chaps singing about happy Thomas trains, doubt was slowly working it's way into my heart. I knew this kind of protesting about what most kids love, had to be extreme and not "normal", but I took Denial's advice and hit repeat (again and again) on the slowly dying boom box while everyone else around us moved farther and farther away.
Although the sun, the sand, and the sunscreen were not Ryan's friends, the ocean....oh, the ocean....most certainly was. The pull and hug of the ocean tides was the relief my poor, over-stressed boy needed to regulate his taxed out sensory system. As much as Ryan loved the feel of the ocean on his legs, his belly, his chest, there was a down side to that deep pressure, salt water hug. The inevitable rash that comes from the sand, the saltwater and long, loose fitting swim trunks. This burning, itchy rash would typically start on day two of vacation (yep, that's still five more days to go) and of course it took one gentle, salt filled wave to lap up against Ryan's irritated skin for the howling to begin. No matter how soothing the tides may have felt to my sweet fella, it was just not worth the fire burning on the back of his legs. Goodbye ocean....see you next year.
Every year, while planning for our annual pilgrimage to the seaside, I would ask Ryan's pediatrician what I could do to prevent the rash from appearing in the first place. He would suggest antihistamines, various creams and lotions and inevitably a different vacation venue like the mountains, the city or perhaps a day trip to the zoo. That's when Denial would stick her fingers in my ears and I would walk out of the pediatrician's office mentally making my list of beach trip items, including the latest lotion that would inevitably prove futile.
Every year, while planning for our annual pilgrimage to the seaside, I would ask Ryan's pediatrician what I could do to prevent the rash from appearing in the first place. He would suggest antihistamines, various creams and lotions and inevitably a different vacation venue like the mountains, the city or perhaps a day trip to the zoo. That's when Denial would stick her fingers in my ears and I would walk out of the pediatrician's office mentally making my list of beach trip items, including the latest lotion that would inevitably prove futile.
Yes, I ignored the doctor, yes I ignored my conscience and yes, I pretended each year wasn't as bad as I thought and we would pack up our umbrellas, our cooler, our beach towels, our sand toys and our Velveeta Shells and Cheese and head back to the beach year after year. On one particular beautiful sunny beach day when Ryan was about 8 years old, it took him all of thirty minutes to announce, "I'm done. Let's go back to the beach house." Are you freaking kidding me? It took twice the amount of time to apply sunscreen on moving targets, pack lunches, fill the cooler and drag the beach chairs, towels, boogie boards and sand toys to the desired, coveted perfect beach spot. So when Ryan announced he'd had enough after I finally plopped my exhausted butt in my beach chair I said, "tough luck kid" and ignored his complaints.
Needless to say, I couldn't ignore Ryan for long once I sensed the other beach goers hatred filled, chum searching gaze. I tried distracting Ryan with sand toys, snacks, beverages and paddle ball. My tactics worked for about fifteen minutes. The whining persisted, the complaining got louder and my nerves got more and more frazzled. So once Ryan hit melt-down mode, out of complete and utter frustration, he kicked sand at me. Big. Giant. Mistake. Just like a Great White Shark, I saw red and went into a frenzy. I snatched Ryan up, plopped him on his beach chair and screamed, "You just bought yourself an extra hour!". Yep, I decided to punish my child for kicking sand in my face by making him stay at the beach longer...the horror! Most kids would have laughed at such a "punishment", being forced to play in the surf, build sand castles and eat junky snacks as a form of punishment, but Ryan wasn't most kids. To Ryan, that extra hour was punishment as it was for all our friends who were with us.
Needless to say, I couldn't ignore Ryan for long once I sensed the other beach goers hatred filled, chum searching gaze. I tried distracting Ryan with sand toys, snacks, beverages and paddle ball. My tactics worked for about fifteen minutes. The whining persisted, the complaining got louder and my nerves got more and more frazzled. So once Ryan hit melt-down mode, out of complete and utter frustration, he kicked sand at me. Big. Giant. Mistake. Just like a Great White Shark, I saw red and went into a frenzy. I snatched Ryan up, plopped him on his beach chair and screamed, "You just bought yourself an extra hour!". Yep, I decided to punish my child for kicking sand in my face by making him stay at the beach longer...the horror! Most kids would have laughed at such a "punishment", being forced to play in the surf, build sand castles and eat junky snacks as a form of punishment, but Ryan wasn't most kids. To Ryan, that extra hour was punishment as it was for all our friends who were with us.
It took years of patience, years of tears and years of me ignoring the pediatrician's advice for a change of venue, but last year between Ryan growing up and accepting that his horribly selfish parents were going on a freaking, happy, smiling beach vacation come hell or high water, last year it all worked out because good old mom finally found the secret to beach peace. Swim jammers. I'm sorry if you were expecting some light shining down from Heaven kind of moment where I buried Denial in the sand and took a leisurely sand free vacation to the mountains. I'm way too selfish for that moment. Nope, the secret to Ryan's beach happiness (and for all who vacation with him) came in the form of swim trunks that fit like skin and don't rub, chafe or cause swimmer's rash. My boy could enjoy the squeezy tight hug of the ocean which made the sun, the sand, the sunscreen and his mother yelling, "Please don't go out so far!", while holding the lifeguard's shark binoculars, much easier to bear. In fact, he really, really loved it. Ahhhhh...finally.
Our family, with the exception of one, loves the beach, so no, we have yet to change our vacation venue and the mountains still await us (of course there are snakes in the mountains which one other family member, who happens to be the one in charge of planning vacations) hates. This family wanted to be like all the other fish, heading in the same direction as the rest of the fish in their school. We didn't want to be like the Great White Shark traveling alone being forced to vacation in sensory safe locations. Selfish? Yes. AWEnest? Most certainly. But, until you have lived with the isolated feeling of being that big fish swimming alone while all the other fish swim together putting on their sunscreen without screams of torture, taking the perfect, no family member is scowling because of the wind and sand, beach photo in white shirts and blue jeans (that is so predictable, please, please wear something different) and going about their vacation with the other fish in school not concerning themselves with the fish whose family's needs are so different from theirs, then you can't and you must not judge.
It took time, but Ryan has truly learned to love the beach. He wears sunglasses, sunscreen and form fitting swim jammers. And although he may still be the first one ready to head back to the beach house, he lasts much longer than thirty minutes these days. We may have tortured Ryan over the years by subjecting him to environments less than pleasing and this most certainly was in part because we wanted to swim in the same school of fish with all our friends, swimming in a group and heading to the same vacation spot. However, Ryan's torture from sand, sun and saltwater also occurred because the world will always be sticky, scratchy and bright, and trying to adapt to that world while mom is on shark and snack patrol and dad is on riptide watch, is the safest place for my beautiful son to adapt. Being thrown to the sharks alone with only a bucket of chum to cling to and my boy would never survive. Unlike his family, Ryan may never want to be part of a school and he may always prefer to be traveling the waters alone, but my son will never, ever be completely alone....we will always be swimming a few feet behind him.
Yes, Shark Week scares the crap out of me which of course is part of the lure. However, I also think the Discovery Channel programmers, marine biologists, and all those who love and fight for the understanding and survival of sharks, want those of us who are uneducated and whose only conception of sharks was created by Steven Spielberg and a mechanical shark in 1975 to realize, that even though sharks may not prefer to go along with all the rest of the fish, sharks have their place in the ocean. Without sharks, the ocean would be filled with fish who all want to be the same, going in the same direction and who fear swimming outside the group. If we can put our prejudices and our misunderstandings aside, we may understand what amazing, strong and beautiful creatures they are regardless if they forego the traditional school of fish and prefer to swim alone.
Coming from a fish who has always preferred to swim in a school surrounded by others pushing me and guiding me to go the same way as them, I am at times saddened, yet inspired by my big fish who cares little of what direction others are heading. He has his own path in mind. Ryan may be traveling in waters often designed for those swimming in a school, which at times makes survival difficult, but he and kids like him have proven to us group folks that being alone very rarely means being lonely and that being who you are, regardless of your differences, takes more courage, more strength, and more survival skills than all the Great Whites freaking us out on Shark Week.
Coming from a fish who has always preferred to swim in a school surrounded by others pushing me and guiding me to go the same way as them, I am at times saddened, yet inspired by my big fish who cares little of what direction others are heading. He has his own path in mind. Ryan may be traveling in waters often designed for those swimming in a school, which at times makes survival difficult, but he and kids like him have proven to us group folks that being alone very rarely means being lonely and that being who you are, regardless of your differences, takes more courage, more strength, and more survival skills than all the Great Whites freaking us out on Shark Week.
Ryan may have adapted and learned to love the beach, but he will never jump in the air for a beach photo because, well, it's just "utterly ridiculous".
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