Look Out, I'm Hugging | Robin Hoffman

January 29, 2015 3:36 PM

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Look Out, I'm Hugging | Robin Hoffman

Thirteen years old in all my gangly, pimply glory walking onto the beach 15 minutes down the road from my grandmom's Century Village condo -- the army barracks of senior citizen living in the 70s. Usually we'd get to the beach so early we'd have our pick of spots, but when my dad insisted on stopping at Publix first, there would be others to hide from as we made our way on the sand searching for the perfect spot. Not too close to the surf so we'd have to move when the tide came in, not too far away so we weren't near the sights and sounds of the crashing waves, but not smack in the middle either or we'd be surely smushed by those who preferred to sleep past 7 a.m. while on vacation.

Like dogs sniffing the grass before they pee, we'd meander. My dad's green transistor radio blaring Big Band hits or worse yet Paul Harvey, my mom clutching a grease-stained brown shopping bag of leftover fried chicken, Grandmom's paper-thin Confederate towel draped over her shoulder, insisting it w...

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