While I was in Carolina a few weeks ago, there was one thing I wanted to do other than visit the most wonderful baby ever born.
I wanted to drive to the first beach I ever visited as a kid.
Myrtle Beach.
I left early in the morning. I hadn’t been for probably twenty years, so I was excited to see if it was the same as I remembered it.
The fog was awful but I had faith.
As I finally approached the pavilion, I knew some things hadn’t changed.
Well, some things had changed. There were about three times as many mini-golf courses. But that’s okay, because for every one of those there was also a pancake house. Nothing says family vacation like beach, mini golf and pancakes. Every day.
I could smell the ocean, I knew I wasn’t far.
And finally, I was there. I parked immediately, jumped out of the car, took off my shoes and walked through the sand and looked out into the horizon. This was the first beach I ever visited. This was the same place I stood the first time I ever saw the ocean, the first time I ever heard waves. The buildings were taller and the rent more expensive but it was still the same.
The seagulls, the water, the way the morning sun reflected off the water, all burned into my mind. No, it’s not the most beautiful or the most exotic beach. It’s not the trendiest or the most attractive. But it was the first and that, it will always be.
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