OCNJ
After skipping through the parking lot on my very last day working for the retail giant who bought my practice, my first destination is my family vacation. My immediate family attempts to assemble for a yearly vacation. Some years have involved a lazy North Carolina beach, sometimes a woodsy lake, but this year is Ocean City, New Jersey.
Ocean City, New Jersey has a long history of wholesome beach fun. In the 1700s, it was called Peck’s Beach. John Peck used the barrier island as a storage place for freshly caught whales. At the time, it was also an Indian summer fishing camp, and a cattle-grazing area. Sometimes mainlanders would boat over for a picnic or to hunt. No one lived there year-round because it wasn’t considered hospitable.
In 1879, four Methodist ministers purchased Peck’s Beach to create a Christian seaside resort. The men came together under a cedar tree (which still stands at 6th and Asbury) and formed the Ocean City Association. The group carved streets and sold lots and soon residents built homes, hotels, railroads, and schools. As a result, this created the infrastructure of the town and sowed the seeds of today’s Ocean City.
In 1883, the first bridge to the island was erected. Before then, the only way to reach the island was by ferry. Between 1890 and 1910, the population of Ocean City grew to more than 11,000 individuals.
Ocean City, New Jersey is considered a family-friendly town, partially because of its dry nature (drinking is forbidden in restaurants and on the beaches). It has always been a beacon for families looking for an affordable seashore beach. The eight miles of beach shoreline offer something for everyone. In fact, The Travel Channel honored Ocean City as the “Best Family Beach of 2005.” Coastal Living voted OCNJ as the best beach in 2016.
My impression of OCNJ is true to its clean reputation. The houses are solidly lined in rows on every street and most are updated, modern and fresh looking. Because of the costly prospect of owning a home here, most families are able to update, renovate, and offset the wear from the coastal beating. Some houses fly an American flag or a flag representing their college loyalty. The stunning result is an architecturally beautiful beach city with an obvious personality.
The house that we rent is approximately a mile from the 341-acre Corson’s Inlet State Park. This park was established in 1969 to help protect and preserve one of the last undeveloped tracts of land along the state’s oceanfront. The area’s natural habitats are diverse and hundreds of species of wildlife live and breed here. Corson’s Inlet is popular for hiking, fishing, crabbing, boating and sunbathing. My family walks along the beach to the park daily.
At the opposite end of the island is downtown and the Boardwalk. Downtown Ocean City is full of quaint shops, lovely restaurants, historical places, and government buildings.
When I think of quintessential east coast boardwalks, Ocean City is first. There is everything to entertain and delight, including T-shirt shops, food vendors, arcades, photo booths, miniature golf courses, an amusement park, a water park, go-kart racing, and surrey and bike rental places.
“Walking the boards” is a distinct sensory experience. A cacophony of music drifts from the shops, combines with the voices of families enjoying themselves, mixes with squawking seagulls, and equals an unparalleled auditory experience. The smell of pizza, baked goods, popcorn, taffy, and salt air make one long to taste all things unhealthy. Because the wooden boards are uneven, it makes walking the entire two and a half miles a klutz’s challenge.
My least favorite part of OCNJ is the overwhelming number of people. As I walk down the beach on the weekend of Labor Day, the mass of humanity is stifling. Initially, all of those personalities can be irritating. I realize that we are all one, and all a part of me.
Nearby, I hear a child’s voice and it’s the same tone, pitch and volume as my niece, Cora. The child is squatting, covered in sand, playing with her buckets and shovels. I remember watching my baby sister (now mother to Cora) playing in the sand in the same way as that two-year-old.
I spot a group of pre-teen boys, too old to be kids, too young to be men. They act awkward and strange, wrestling and jostling each other, unsure of how to carry themselves. They remind me of my brother and male cousins at this age. One year one of them, prompted by a dare from the others, got his head stuck in the rungs of a bunk bed.
A group of teenage girls flit by in bikinis. Because no sign of age has touched their bodies, they are unconcerned about cellulite or jiggling fat or unruly boobs. I remember being one of those girls. Their happy voices rise high above the din, a little too loud and a little too shrill. I spot the reason for the amplification. There is a cute, tanned teenage boy nearby, who flexes while throwing a football to his friends, slyly glancing towards the girls.
I notice a group of men, holding their “sodas”, throwing horseshoes, and talking about the good old days. I remember my Dad and uncles providing this background dialogue to my internally-focused teenage life.
Further down the beach, I observe a gaggle of women, lounging in their sand chairs at the water’s edge. Their books on their laps, they update each other on the latest gossip while watching over the kids in the waves. I remember my mom and aunts providing this blanketed protection and feeling safe knowing they were overseeing the rest of us. The moms keep the order, whether a child or husband needs to be reprimanded.
I think the lesson to be learned on this beach is that common threads connect us all. We should be slow to judge, as a part of us can be found in every person. Unfortunately, we have a tendency to look down on others for being different. Instead, we should search for uniting parallels. When we find them, we should try to love, accept or at least acknowledge those similarities, both good and bad. We are all part of this larger humanity, personified on this crowded beach in Ocean City, NJ.
Ultimately, we are all invisibly connected.
“Each person you meet
is an aspect of yourself,
clamoring for love.”
Eric Micha’el Leventhal
