Flamingo in the Ocean

My mother embarrasses us at Miami Beach: “Chasing Crazy”

“What do you mean why am I bringing the hat?”

My mother screamed into the hot air.

“Do you know how long it takes to get sand out of your hair?”

My childhood visits to the beach were never fully appreciated until I suffered an extreme sun burn, the police were dispatched for public intoxication, or I tried to take the city bus home.

The beach can often be a source of peace, even harmony to normal families.

These families would find such an excursion to be a way of bonding and spending time together.

My family just found it an easy way to embarrass each other in public.

My brother Jason and I were going to be subject to a day full of attention from onlookers.

And, just to add some excitement to the day, my mother decided to let her on-and-off boyfriend, Ray, come along.

Miami Beach was ten miles from home, but my mother would pack as if we were nomads, collecting and trading things along our journey.

Suitcases were packed to the brim with clothes, seemingly for every season, but my mother rationalized each item.

The hat she struggled to fit on her head was a snow cap. It was a hand-knitted, purple mess.

It had once had a large cotton ball on the end which dangled from a green braid, but over time the ball had simply fallen off; only the braid remaining.

People either thought that I had knitted the hat myself or that she had escaped from an adult living center.

It was never forgotten though, whether it was a beach trip, an outing to the movie theater, or a parent-teacher orientation at my school. That hat was practically an extension of my mother, and just as embarrassing.

Spare pants and long shirts were taken in case there was a “breeze”.

The temperature would reach one hundred and fifteen during a typical day in Miami Beach.

It was easy to hide the unnecessary wardrobe in the car, but no beachgoer was going to miss the grotesque, 11-foot-long, pink kayak strapped to our Pontiac Phoenix as it bounced over the curb of the parking lot.

It was as if we had strapped a flamingo carcass to our roof.

Ray had stolen the kayak from Ace Hardware years ago and kept it as yard furniture. The majority of the park residents had either sat in it, slept in it or gotten sick in it at some point.

It was a familiar landmark for the people.

The color had kept its shiny, artificial tone. Its blushing luster remained, as if it were perpetually embarrassed of itself.

Various kids, or Ray’s family, had drawn all over it with black marker. There were numerous carvings along the sides of the craft — invisible traces of gang monikers and lewd drawings.

The kayak had seen better days. It had warped under the sun, and the weight of the park denizens, so it had a fairly noticeable slope in the middle.

It was not sea worthy to any rational mind. But much to the neighbors’ surprise, my mother was taking it with us.

She had chosen the kayak when faced with the dilemma that both the kayak and rope hammock would not fit in the car.

It didn’t bother my mom that there were no trees on the beach to hang a hammock or that no one in their right mind would try to paddle out into the ocean with a kayak in that condition.

Let alone one with a large penis drawn into the side.

We flipped the kayak over, watching the cigarette butts and beer bottles fall out like a waterfall of bad choices. Ray hoisted it onto his shoulders and carried it to the car.

To her, it was something else in the house that could, in some way, be related to water.

From my uncle Jim’s tackle box, to a boat seat cushion, we were prepared for anything when we left the trailer park.

Food was something we always had at the beach as well. Yes, it was edible, but it was not food that complemented thick humidity.

Tuna fish casserole and reheated mashed potatoes were often packed into the family cooler with the cracked top. (Ray used it as a chair and occasional stepstool to get onto his roof.)

The beat up box had been acquired at a garage sale where it sat below a sign that read:

“Free: if you can fit it.”

The food never remained cold and I would often find myself staring at other families on the beach enjoying ice cream cones and crisp fruit salads.

I would have cried with envy had the meatloaf I was gnawing on not sucked all the moisture from my mouth.

All the annoyances of the day vanished when we pulled up to the turquoise masterpiece. My legs ran before my body was even out of the car as I sprinted to the water staring at me.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I pranced across the sand and breathed in the scenery. I watched as waves rolled in perfect symmetry and palm trees danced in the breeze to reggae music from the restaurant behind us. A seagull winked at me as it soared overhead.

The contrast from where we had just come from was surreal.

The crest of the first wave tumbled over and swam to my toes as I stepped onto the cool, damp sand and positioned my body to dive in.

The silence was broken.

“Gregory! Wait!”

It was her.

“I need to put on your lotion!”

My mother dropped the cooler into the sand and ran towards me — arms flailing.

The moment of peace had come and gone as quickly as the wave that was now far from my toes.

I lowered my head in defeat as I walked towards her to avoid more screaming.

Every summer, my mother would take it upon herself to make sure I received the darkest tan possible. No reason. It was just what she had decided one day.

And every summer she would claim that my excuse of having “fair skin” was something a girl would say.

As I appeared before her, I could see that she was squinting hard at a black plastic bottle she was holding at an arm’s length from her face.

It was called Tan Amplifier, and it was now being poured by the handful over my entire body.

It was greasy as it beaded down my face and was massaged into my chest. It was thick and oily like a liquid form of brown Vaseline, that stung as it dripped into my now bloodshot eyes.

It shimmered so intensely that my body was actually starting to reflect the faces of the other children watching me.

I had turned into a slippery mirror before my mother was finished with me.

I would later find out that the “amplifier” in its name signified its amazing power to generate a tan in gloomy weather.

There was not a cloud in the sky that day.

Read the next chapter where we meet the POLICE!

START FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE RACE!

CHASING CRAZY