53rd Street

When I was a little kid, I spent the whole summer at my family’s beach house on 53rd street in Virginia Beach. My brother and I shared a room, bunked beds. I loved it there. It was euphoric, and to have euphoria at such a young age is something extra special.

Not having a surfboard, I learned to manage just fine on my body board. I would paddle out into the surf and jump on in on waves right along with the older surfers. Being so light, I could stand up and ride the wave just like everyone else.

Additionally, my brother and I learned how to use a body board as a skim board. We would run from the beach as fast as we could directly into a wave to see how much air we could get. One day my brother and I decided it would be an intelligent idea to play chicken in a pool of water up on the beach.

I ran at him as fast as I could and jumped onto my board. Last second, being completely content with being the “chicken” I made a futile attempt to bail out. I did not quite understand the laws of inertia and friction. I pushed off my board, my board went flying to the side as my head went straight at my brother’s head. As we lay there in the pool of our own stupidity, my mom came running up worried sick that we had done some real damage. Hard to hurt that lack of brains though. With a wicked headache, loss of pride, and a heart full of shame, my mom decided no punishment for our stupidity would be necessary. We were already punished enough.

One summer I remember enjoying one of the greatest thunderstorms of my life. With every bolt of lightning, the power would go off, and then come back on moments later. Our doorbell would ring every time the power would come back on. My dad, every time the power went off, would say “I bet someone’s about to come to the door.” And then the doorbell would ring and me, my brother, and my sister would laugh like crazy. He must have said it a hundred times that night, and it made me laugh just as hard the last time as the first. I still smile when I think about it.

Another summer at the beach, my dad decided it was time for me to learn how to ride a bike. He took me out to the calm street with my brother’s old bike and told me the basics. He then proceeded to push me around while holding me stable. An epic moment in the life of a father, right? Teaching his kid how to ride a bike. Well I turned around and said, “Can I just try it on my own?” So he let me and I rode. I guess I was born to ride bikes. Needless to say, that is not exactly how any dad would want that day to go. Whoops.

Long after we have left 53rd street behind, I reminisce about the beauty of that place and remember my first home away from home.

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