Under the Boardwalk

    When it’s summer we go to the beach. We always get a bungalow right on the boardwalk. You know what I used to do? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what I used to do. When it was morning? I’d get up early, really early. Everybody would still be in bed. They’d all still be asleep. I wouldn’t make a sound. I’d go outside, and go under the boardwalk. It’s kind of cold and damp there, but I’d just walk right under. I wouldn’t stop ’cause there’s bugs there so I’d just keep going. Big kids have to crawl under, but I don’t have to crawl ’cause I’m only four and a half, so I can stand up straight and walk right under, and I don’t hit my head.

    When I get to the other side? Guess what. There’s no one there. I’m the only one there. So I’d go to the ocean, but I wouldn’t go all the way. I’d stop, like where the beach starts to go downhill to the water. And I’d stop right there. I’d just sit down and wait for the sun to come up. I could see lifeguards way far away at the end of the beach where they have rocks. The lifeguards all have rakes, and they rake the beach every morning. Every morning I’d see them there raking the beach.

    If you watch the waves, you will see every one is different. And they just keep coming. They never stop. Pretty soon the sun would start to come up. You can’t look at it ’cause it hurts your eyes, and Dad says you will ruin your eyes if you look at it. You know how just before the sun comes up it’s sort of cool? Soon as the sun came up, it’d be warm. That sun is really warm.

    Then I’d get up and go back to the bungalow before anybody got up. Nobody knew I was gone. Not Mom, not Dad, not my brothers, not my sisters. I have two brothers and four sisters. Two of my sisters are just babies though.

    Only one day Mom caught me. She said, “Where have you been?” I told her. She said, “Don’t ever do that again.” Mom doesn’t want me to go to the beach by myself. So I can’t do that anymore. But guess what I found out. I can see the sun come up, and I don’t even have to go outside. Know how I do it? I just stand up on pillows on the sofa and look out the window. But I don’t do that any more. It’s not the same, like on the beach.

    When Mom’s cooking breakfast that’s when the iceman comes. He has this big block of ice for the icebox. He carries it with tongs, kind of like curvy scissors. It has two handles, but he only holds one handle. How come the ice doesn’t just fall right out? I don’t know. I don’t know how that works. Anyway, the iceman just puts the ice in the top of the icebox.

    Then after that we eat breakfast. The bungalow is so small we have to eat breakfast on the deck in the back, but that’s really good ’cause when you spill something, it’s ok; we just wipe it up and wash it off with the hose. After that we help Mom pack a bunch of sandwiches and lemonade with lots of ice. She chops it off the big hunk the iceman gave us. She won’t let any of us kids chop the ice; she’s afraid we might get hurt. Then we all go to the beach. Dad carries the umbrella. When we get to the beach he sticks it up. Then Dad has to read the paper; but Mom gets to watch us play.

    Now is August, and next comes September. That’s when I start school. I have to go to Kindergarten. I don’t know about Kindergarten, we’ll see. (That’s what Mom and Dad say when we ask for something, “We’ll see.”) My sister Margie says I will like it. She’s starting second grade. She said you just play with toys and draw and paint and stuff with a whole bunch of other kids. And she said you take naps. And you learn to read. But I already know how to read. Know who taught me? Guess who taught me. Me! I taught myself! When Mom read books to me, I just looked at the words by her finger, and pretty soon I figured out how to read. I just figured it out all by myself. They all thought I learned the words by memory, but then one time I read a new book, and boy were they surprised.

    There is no Kindergarten at the beach. First we have to leave the bungalow and go back to our big house where we live most of the time. Then I get to go to Kindergarten.

© Richard Gilbert   September 2011