During my adolescent years I spent succulent summers at Bethany Beach, Delaware, body surfing, riding waves of hormones1, pretending to be the man I wanted to become. My dad ruled the small kingdom of Beachcombers Flat, the nest and crash pad for the family. One unbroken rule of beach life was that Dad did the cooking, the kids did the cleaning up and the dishes, and Mother rested.
A Pocket Full of Quarters
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