Burn Baby Burn

Continuing the memory of my last post of visiting Aunt Helen and Uncle Jake Stahl as a teenaged kid and my beach memory of the time when Florida wasn’t the Mecca for tourists flocking to Disney World like lemmings to the sea. Orlando wasn’t the host to a vacation resort. Its amusement park wasn’t thought of. But I believe California Disneyland was in place at that time. I remember it was advertised on television Sunday evenings.

My parents Carl and Sybil Miner Beck decided to visit Jake and Helen. It was the first time seeing them since they’d moved to Florida. It was also the first time I’d seen an ocean. After the initial shock of seeing bikini clad women strolling along Daytona Beach, we climbed out of the car and spread towels to claim our spots. The sounds of the Atlantic Ocean were all new to me. I’d never heard the rushing waves, or the cries of gulls flying overhead. Salty smells of ocean and hot sand assaulted my nostrils with their different refreshing smells. Clouds scudded across the sky the sun playing peek-a-boo. It slowly became overcast where the sun could only peer through a veil of haziness.

Because I have sandy hair and pale skin I quickly exceeded my dose of vitamin D. My back bore the brunt of the sun’s assault. I was soon redder than a lobster and my back felt as though I’d been in the boiling water with him.

The Stahl’s air conditioning was wonderful, though I occasionally felt chilled and would shiver. Jake had grilled his famous steaks and was upset when I refused to eat one. I nibbled on a piece of celery and a few carrots. The wonderful aroma of the meat nauseated me, feeling sick from the sunburn. I found later that I had “sun poisoning.”

On the return ride from vacation, I rode in the front seat with a pillow at the base of my spine where I could sit forward without my painful, blistered back coming in contact with the seat. Mom got relegated to the back seat riding the hump where the exhaust pipe ran beneath the car between Kathy and Ken. It wasn’t an enviable place to be.

Without the interstate roadways, Dad drove twenty-one hours from Orlando to Breezewood, Pennsylvnia. At Breezewood, he decided he was tired and allowed Mom to drive. No sooner had he taken Mom’s seat in the back than he complained about how hot it was. Mom had endured it for 21 hours, so she had no pity and she sped along the Turnpike. Dad’s rushed return trip earned him the nickname Zoom-zoom.