Father’s Day at the Beach

I wrote this post in 2011; worthy of an annual repeat!

DadThinking of my father today.  He worked 6 days a week, so Sundays were a sacred day…at the beach.

My dad was blessed with hardy Irish skin that turned dark brown in the summer months.  Suntan lotion (we didn’t call it sunscreen back then) and the giant yellow umbrella with the lethal metal pole were for the rest of us who just freckled and burned.

My mother laughs when decribing all of the equipment hauled to the beach, along with 4 little girls: a large playpen (even heavier than the massive umbrella), beach chairs, buckets, coolers, etc.  And of course, my father’s fishing gear.  At a certain age, my sisters and I were permitted to walk back to the house to retrieve more food and beer for the grown ups (wrapping the beer in foil to trick the lifeguards??)

The Sunday tradition continued with the next generation.  My sons enjoyed beach days with “Pop Pop” and followed the rules at the end of the day: 1) “call” your turn for the outside shower, and 2) hang bathing suits/towels on the line.  All beach items were thoroughly rinsed, set in the sun to dry, and of course, neatly stored by night fall. Even though we grew up by the beach, sand was NEVER permitted in the house!

yardLong beach days are an ongoing family tradition.  My father’s rules are now enforced at my house (I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown the day this picture was taken…I am my father’s daughter!)

The love of the beach…and family time together.

Thanks Dad.

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