Salt Water In My Veins

     Well, it's getting to be that time of year again. Time to think about where to go on summer vacation. Should it be the beach or the mountains? I'm typically a beach person. I come from a long line of beach people, which is why, I suppose, that I am a beach person in the first place. My people were beach people and their people were beach people. Is it hereditary? Who knows? Maybe choice of vacation sites is in the genes. If that's the case, then I am pre-destined to be a beach person, so there's no decision to make. I should just rent a little cottage, pack up my towel and flippers, and head for the ocean. Just like I've done nearly every summer since I was a child.

If I had been thinking at the time, I could've tested this genetic sun-and-sand link on my kids when they were small. See where they wanted to go. But by now it's too late. The die is cast, and they are now molded in my image as sun-seekers for good. Bound to troop off like lemmings toward the smell of salt air. When I say vacation, they grab

the boogie boards. It's a done deal.

I've thought about us going to the woods on vacation, just for a change of pace. I'm sure that if I announced "We're going to the mountains," that they'd go along, and probably enjoy it, but that deep down, they'd really rather be at the beach. I know that I for one would be out of my element in the woods. Don't get me wrong, I've gone camping and hiking, but it's not really vacation to me. When I go swimming, I don't want mud squishing between my toes. There's the ick factor to consider. I want sand. Fishing to me is not a mental contest of trying to finesse a wary bass out from under a sunken log with a dainty hand-tied fly on a hair-thin filament line. It's rearing back with a 12-foot pole and flinging a lead weight big enough to knock out a horse as far as you can. When the blues are running in the surf, it's every man for himself as you strain your back to reel in a fighting 10-pounder through the shore break. Ahhh. That's what it's all about.

So whether it's a result of genetics or conditioning, I think we both know by now that it's going to be the beach. That's just the way it is. My son did ask me once why we don't ever go anywhere else for vacation. The answer was very simple. I asked him "Did you ever cut your finger?" "Yes." "When you stuck it in your mouth, did it taste more like salt water or like tap water?" "Salt water." "That means you are a beach person. If you were a woods person, your blood would taste like moss." It's a natural fact. Okay, I told him the truth years later. But by that time he was a beach person for life. One way or another.

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