Memories of Summer and Aunt May

Aunt May was a large woman.  There was no mistaking the figure starting down our street dressed in a long black bathing dress, big hat on her head, towel tucked under her arm.  Aunt May was going to the beach.

A soon as she was spotted, young voices rang out, “Wait for me, Aunt May. Wait for me”, and wait she did.  By the time she reached our house and my brother and I rushed out to join her, like the Pied Piper, Aunt May had a small group of neighborhood children trailing along, dressed for swimming and eager to be on their way.  Once everyone’s ice cream dimes were safely in her purse, we began our long walk to the foot of our street and the Free Beach.

Though beach clubs dotted the north shore of the Bronx on either side of our street,we were happy to be with Aunt May.  She always knew when the tide was in and swimming was at its best.  Also, we had friends along to swim with.  Her rules were simple;  no squabbling, no dunking, and go no higher than your waist.  If anyone misbehaved, the offender sat next to Aunt May for what seemed an eternity.  Having raised thirteen children, Aunt May knew a bit about firmness, so we wisely tried our best to please.

Once she had her swim, Aunt May would sit at the water’s edge and watch us, praising our found treasures, even wriggling horseshoe crabs.  She shared what she knew about each sea creature, and we learned.  Often a child would end up in her hap, head resting against her enormous bosom, seeking and gaining comfort.  Aunt May’s arms welcomed all of us.

When it was time to go home, and we had gathered all our belongings, we’d stop at the ice cream stand.  Amazingly, Aunt May’s purse always had enough dimes for each of us to enjoy a treat on our long trek back to our neighborhood.

Then came the polio scare, and the beaches were closed least the waters contain a contaminant responsible.  All of us children grumbled, deprived of our summer fun, but we remained close to home, aware of the disquiet among the adults.  We heard that Aunt May’s son Timmy, was struck down with polio, though we understood little of the severity of the disease.  To us, the closure of the beaches was unfair, but we learned very quickly not to complain more than once.

When the city finally reopened the beaches, some of us in the neighborhood were allowed to ride our bikes to the water.  The beach club offered lots to do and lots of supervision.  Occasionally, we’d pass Aunt May on her solitary walk for a swim, and we’d wave as we pedaled past, eager for the pleasures ahead, and indifferent to the possible loneliness of the walker.  We had moved on, and in the self-centered world of the young, we didn’t need Aunt May anymore.  She was just a nice old lady.