Dad commuted to work, so that left me, my mom, two sisters, and a next door neighbor alone during the day to fill our time swimming, sunbathing, reading countless romance novels, playing Mah Jong and Solitaire, and taking long walks to Bogue pier where we would hunt for shells like buried treasure—and occasionally load up on candy and ice cream at the arcade. All eyes would be set on spotting a hunky vacationer who might materialize into a summer crush for a week, or maybe two, if we were lucky.
When
the boredom took over, we roamed the dunes looking for old tombstones, practiced
our Miss America walks down the piling walkway, and performed talent shows and
skits, all the while barefooted and sunburned. Those were fun days.
Speaking of swimming, we would swim every day in shallow and deep water for hours until our skin was pickled from the salt water. Not once did we have an encounter with a shark or even know of someone who had an encounter with a shark, other than a boastful surfer whose stories couldn't really be trusted. Jellyfish and crabs, yes, and the occasional stingray, but never a shark.
We were fearless and bold, not the least bit worried about what may be swimming around us. In addition, we rarely if ever experienced rip tides. Once my dad had to rescue three adults with a rope and a life ring, but that was because they were foolish enough to swim way past what the normal person would know is safe.
Years later, I got the fright of my life when my little boy almost got sucked out to sea by my beloved ocean, right before my very eyes. And then several years after that, my neighbor friend who had spent every summer with me on the beach had to rescue her son from a dangerous riptide, only to be sucked out herself in what was a scary, perilous situation!
But riptides aside, the boldness in thinking the ocean was my personal swimming pool left me abruptly on the day I got my hands on a NY times best-selling novel by Peter Benchley, entitled Jaws. And then thanks to Steven Spielberg, the movie version kept me out of the water for good.
On occasion I would get in the surf and splash around, but I was haunted by the possibility of a shark opening its limber jaws like a maniacal bulldozer and gobbling me up whole. I thought I was safe along the breakers, and only for a quick dip, where I would scuttle back to the safety of my umbrella and beach chair.
Years ago, while camping at Camp Seafarer, I found a 6 inch long shark’s tooth along the Neuse River. I often imagined the size of its owner and wondered how part of its remains ended up on a freshwater shore. Even after eons of wear, it was still sharp to the touch. I couldn’t imagine such a creature rising up out of the water to dismember me! Sadly, the tooth disappeared a long time ago with a family of renters.
Now, with these latest attacks at Oak Island, it appears that these dreaded fish have been demonically summoned to our shores for the sole purpose of biting off arms and feet. What has happened? Even though the statistics of a shark attack are minuscule, the horror of seeing a child lose a limb at the snap of a finger is any person’s worse nightmare. I can’t imagine being a witness to such a thing!
I guess if I had to find some good in this, I would say my reasons for staying out of the water on our next beach trip are justified. The twinge of guilt I usually feel in turning my kids down when they invite me to ride the waves will be significantly assuaged.
I’ll be content to build a sand castle, read a book, nap, or take a long walk along the shore looking for treasured shells. Who knows…I might even find another shark's tooth. And that’s about as close as I ever want to get to Mr. Jaws!
Have a wonderful, fearless, yet safe summer!
PS Here are some of my relics from days scouring the beach for shells. I love my cross and cherish the sand dollars. Some of them may be store bought, but I like to imagine that I discovered them on some of my long walks...
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