Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

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After being blown off by a octogenarian friend, I took off for Matunuck beach instead. Why there? I had heard Bowie's “Heroes” and it kept playing in my head for hours and some of it's lines reminded me of a time in my youth. We all make songs “our own.” When I reached the beach, it was populated with surfers who were daring the gigantic waves that rolled on in from the hurricane Maria which is still hundreds of miles to the south. The others there were the local beach house renters/owners who, I noticed, jealously guarded their front yard parking spots with warning signs and very nearly the same spots they picked out on the beach. I have to admit though, everyone was friendly. I walked the length of the beach, getting my calves wet from the surf which was so high it was running over the entire beach up to the beach grass and to the escarpment where the regular soil begins. I had my Garmin out, looking for a particular spot, or near it, for a place at a time when I was 25 and had one of the best summers of my life. I found it. Why would it move? It was just a patch of sand where I plowed the fuck out of D'Arby one summer night. I recognized the homes, break waters and such to be very confident I was in the same area. 

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“Wow...Here!...This is pretty much it! What a summer!” I thought.

I never planned on being a beach bum as a career for the few summers I managed it. I didn't rent/own any property down there and I commuted the whole distance a few times a week during those summers in my 20's. What started all of that was the purchase of a Dodge 400 convertible which is made for summer excursions. I had been turned onto convertibles by D'Arby who owned one when I met her. After I got mine, I found myself, without any conscious decision, navigating to the beach more and more. It was one of the very few summers I managed to get a passable tan for my lily white Irish skin.

I ended up getting that tan (sort of), windblown, tousled hair that was permed into place by the salt spray that was in the air and to top that off, an attitude of looking stoned and relaxed w/o having to suck on a joint. Add to that a Mr Zog's Sex Wax visor, smelling of coconut oil sunblocks and a variety of pastel shirts in various Caribbean colors and ripped shorts. Again, none of this was planned, it just sort of happens to you.

Drinking, surf casting, fucking, partying, drinking, going to concerts, drinking and plain chillin' on the beach was my day job. Either I was doing this with my Pawtucket droogs or my RIC ones, neither mattered as no one said “No” to going to the beach for the day and night. As I did this, a change occurred in me, I became so relaxed and carefree that it bled into my regular non-beach life. I went barefoot a lot more, I didn't freak on the small details and generally I was more happier. Lackadaisical to the nth power. It began annoying some people who hated the fact I could do this. Jealous much?

But, it all comes to an end as the summer days shorten and the crowd at the beach changes to more locals as they take it over again from the tourists, like me. The drive home at night with my top down I could pick out the rising of the autumn constellations in the East. Another summer over. The only way to carry this forward is in the middle of winter. Then you have to drive north to the ski venues where the Beach Blanket Bingo mentality is revived but this time around the Lodge and slopes. That is prohibitively more expensive, but nice to experience once in a while. I tried it. I bashed my head good skiing once, but I had a hell of a time at the Lodge.

Also, you grow up and hit 30 and the summer vacation attitude wanes as there are bills to pay, careers to advance on and in my case, play nurse to a family of terminal relatives. Adulthood surely sets in fast! 

And this and it's true: You cannot go home again. The younger generations who now own the beach, who own all those good times, quietly exclude you from joining their ranks. And would you want to join them as this freaky old person who hangs around 22 year olds? No, every generation bans the one that came before. You have to get out of their way. In a real sense, it's their time now.

Today, after my walk up the beach I stopped by the Ocean Mist to get a beer or two. I remembered how many times I was in here in my youth watching bands, hanging out with D'Arby and sitting on those rocks with her getting high off of ditch weed. Today, I sipped my beer watching the surfers, from the deck, paddle further and further out till they became just dots on those waves when something happened.

As I drank the beer, there was a different but old recognizable taste to it. It was taste and smell I remember from my 20's. I tasted the beer and the sea air together. There is a definite difference I say! For me anyways! About a minute or two later, a lot of memories came back, the relaxation, the careless attitude, my old 24 year old self, for a while anyway. I was surprised at how an old memory, that I pretty much have forgotten in my day to day life of today, came back in a flood.

I had several thoughts run through my mind too. A young man, in his early 20's, is trying to “come into his own” or “make it.” It doesn't necessarily have to be financial (although it helps!) but I think it's when you finally are completely independent, finally away from the support of your family. You stand on your own with a strong, healthy dose of confidence that isn't annoyingly boastful or aggressive. It's real and solid and does not have to be pubically broadcast nor brayed. A young man will dream of what he wants, whatever it may be and he'll work towards it's fruition. And by way of the Golden Touch, which 20 Somethings can possess in great quantities, if they only allow themselves to believe it, you achieve much of what you want, for a while anyway, as long as it can last.

I realized sitting there on the Ocean Mist deck, watching the young surfers, that I had achieved a great deal of it all, at one time, when I was a young man. I had the hot girlfriend, the cool car, the decent job that afforded me time off when I wanted it (plus the money), the freedom to come and go as I pleased w/o family interference and that Golden Touch where with the slightest effort, I made things happen. All the planets aligned for a while.

I'm 53 now and I can't return to that period in my life whatsoever and you know what? I don't have to. I was there. I owned it and own it still. I had “come into my own” a long time ago.

Resting on my laurels? Nostalgia? You bet! But the thing about it all, I can point to the trophy still on the shelf, inscribed with this:

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing, will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be heroes, just for one day

Though nothing, will keep us together
We could steal time, just for one day
We can be heroes, forever and ever
What'd you say?