I remember

I had a fondness for dirty feet that summer. Third night of our beach vacation, I couldn’t sleep in the slithering humidity of a Nags Head July. I tossed and turned and finally ejected myself from the bed. I walked on the sandy tile floors out to the living room. I hadn’t washed my feet since morning and could feel the gritty chalkiness of the floor. It was wonderful.

They were playing Probe. Mom, Mr. McCartney, Mrs. McCartney, and Jeff sat around the table. I don’t know what the others were doing. Gary, Cindy, and Karen, perhaps they went out for a walk with Dad. Paul and Jarilyn were probably already asleep. It was generally understood that the McCartneys had better sleeping habits than the Woods.

The only family members who slept equally well were Missy and Heather, the two shelties. Missy belonged to the McCartneys and Heather belonged to us. Missy was also Heather’s mother. Our Heather only had one mommy.

“Quintuple the value of your first guess.” Mom took her turn, trying to guess the other words. Mrs. McCartney’s was already exposed. She’d chosen architecture. Mr. McCartney had three exposed letters – U, M, and T. Jeff had three exposed letters – P, A, and K.

“Hey everyone,” I announced, “Jeff and Mr. McCartney chose the same word. Supermarket.”

Even on vacation and even in front of friends, Mom scolded me. “Oh, Jimmy, be still. You’re only imagining that.”

“He’s right, Betty. I do have supermarket,” countered Mr. McCartney.

“And so do I,” added Jeff. “Mom, can you send Jimmy back to bed? He’s ruining the game for us.”

I remember that summer vacation of 1973 as if it were yesterday. The dogs, who’ve since gone to heaven, the gritty floors of our beach cottages, two weeks of swimming, sun, playing games, reading books. And the Nags Head traditions – the ice cream tent, climbing sand dunes, crabbing in the bay, building a campfire at night on the beach. How I’d like to do that again. How I’d like to be ten years old again, spending two weeks with dirty feet and no shoes.