Take It From Me

Every summer, our family took special trips to Riis Park and Jones Beach, premium beaches with big waves and white sand.

But our mainstay was Manhattan Beach. It was close: our summer backyard.

It had things we needed. Grills, handball courts, playgrounds, Good Humor men on trikes.

We'd bring food and the radio and papers and meet our whole extended family there, and stay all day, and into the night.

The waves at Jones and Riis knocked you down, great, and half-drowned you with wildness. The waves at Manhattan Beach broke at your ankles. But swim out far enough and float on your back with the sun in your brain and you were anyplace.

A Sun-Dew orange drink carton would float over you and you'd remember where you were.

The carton had a cartoon sun-guy, big round face, big smile, much simpler than you would even draw yourself, which made it a little frightening.

But Sun-Dew was your friend. Here he was, here you are, at the beach again.

Riis Park was Riis Park, Jones Beach was Jones Beach; Manhattan Beach was the beach.

It was the only beach were Sun-Dew went.

If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

Like Brooklyn 3, altogether. There were better places to go, places to be. But there were no better places to know, nor be from. Take it from me.