Everyone probably has a special time of their lives they’ll never forget. Most of the time, we remember our “happy times,” the “not so happy times” get swept under the carpet or simply buried back in the recesses of our minds. As a kid who grew up a military brat, moving around every three years from one part of the country to the other, being born on foreign soil, I did establish some roots along the way. Some of my most happy times, many of you may agree, were in High School. When I left Port Arthur right after graduation, I thought I’d never see the place again, and I haven’t really. Except, here I am, back in my old stomping grounds, less than 70 miles from where I spent my most formative years. Every time I turn around, I’m running into old classmates, old acquaintances, and with the existence of social media, I’ve actually reconnected with a lot of old friends.

It is uncanny, when I run into someone I think is a complete stranger and begin talking to them and certain coincidences begin to take fold, only to realize I’m talking with someone I used to know almost 50 years ago. A few years ago, walking on the beach, I ran into a couple and began talking. As we talked, the conversation came around to a mutual friend, Clifford, my old flame from school. Turns out Clifford had died, all of Austin and all of Port Arthur turned out for his funeral and his many memorials. A guy I knew I’d never see again, and all of a sudden finding myself grieving for his loss.

I recently took a part time job and share it with a very nice lady who I’ve come to find out graduated a few years before me from TJ. She says she knew me … wow! I always wonder what it will be like when I do reunite with old friends as many have expressed the desire to get back together. Many remember our days here on Crystal Beach after prom, coming with our parents when they rented a beach house for the summer, or hanging out at the big green house in Caplen, the property stretched from highway to beach. I look in that direction every time I drive by; the house is no longer there, but I remember that screened in deck across the back of the house where Trish would tell scary stories, the full moon looming overhead.

GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you.

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