The Beach…

Downtown Long Beach Photograph by Karen Zea

The beach, a memory of my childhood days and the sudden feeling of becoming as free as the birds flying through the sky, but wait…wait…with it comes a hint of fear and panic because this enchanting place would also harbor the secrets of those that took advantage of “quiet girls” too scared to ever speak up.

I imagined wrestling wildly with the currents and waves of temperamental gods. The creativity and imagination that I possessed as a child was endless.  I often daydreamed of encountering the mighty Poseidon while my sister and I would pretend to be mermaids that were stranded like Daryl Hannah in “Splash.”  Diving into the cherished moments before the cruel intentions of what adulthood could mean and where siblings would work together to build castles which would be washed away by the ocean’s water…to be born again and to give a fresh start to those who needed it one more time. I enjoyed breathing in the salty ocean breeze and running my feet through the warm, soothing sand. I loved how nature would gently massage my tiny olive feet while I toiled in it to find magical shells. I collected them because it was a father-daughter moment, a sister-sister moment that I will always hold dear and now a tradition that I share with my own daughter of ten years.  The look on my face when my little “chica”bounces around the beach shore in the hunt of the next one is priceless. Shells can be found in her many drawers of treasures and trinkets that she holds onto dearly; promising to never let them go and I am okay with this.  She has always had trouble fitting in and not being quite like the prissy little girls that chase boys while giggling and gossiping.  She would rather take the boys on in a game of “Zombie Tag.”  They take place of the many friends and loved ones who have come and gone. I know what the beach means to her, what the ocean gifts mean to her, what it means to me…and I am happy.

I remember the days I spent with my brother on our boogie boards and how the waves would crash into me as I was always catching them at the wrong moment, but this seemed to be the story of my life. I would catch my big brother laughing at me rather than taking me to the side and teaching me how…well I was there for his amusement. I learned to get up and laugh it off after a good blow here and there. The violence of it, thrilled me.  The suspense of not knowing how long it would take until I made it to the shore was what floored me and then came in the fear. I had a longing to be as big and bad as the “boys.” I hungered for their freedom of speech, their freedom of being shirtless, and just the plain old freedom that our society and culture gives to the meaning of being a”boy.”  I have attached these memories to my relationship with my brother as it has never changed, it remains the same; distant…emotional blow after blow…but I am stronger than he will ever know and I was okay then and I am okay now…

Kids and Beach Life Photograph by Karen Zea

My boys love being rocked back and forth by the ocean waves and where I take “one moment at a time” to remind them that the bond should never be broken.  Their tie should last a lifetime.  My youngest son was diagnosed at 2 years of age with Classic Autism and was completely non-verbal.  The doctor that first diagnosed him instilled so many crazy ideas of my son being institutionalized when he would get older and that he would not be able to keep a relationship, let alone a conversation with anyone. Boy was she wrong.  He showed everyone that the impossible is possible and  that miracles do exist if you take a chance.  I was chastised for the different parenting  choices and types of therapies I placed him in from both professionals and family. There were plenty of  moments where I doubted myself and  I would cry myself to sleep.  There were many instances that I would have to endure the countless excuses by professionals that “it wasn’t  protocol and that it couldn’t be done,”  but we never took no for an answer. We experienced both the bad and the ugly, as well as the blessings along the way .  We took on board many amazing therapists, one-on-ones, teachers,  and he is now completely verbal and in a general education environment. There are still moments of struggles, but we focus on the positives and not just on all the deficits.  Early on he was fearful of the crashing noise the waves would create when he listened through his “bionic” ears and often send him into a full scale meltdown, but with patience and love from both his worlds, their father and I, we would assist him so that he would learn how to calm himself in times like these.  The transition from dry to wet was something we struggled with both our daughter and our younger son. He is now at the point of swimming with such amazing skill and precision. We call him the “Shark.” He has conquered this fear, he is fourteen now and never looks back once he is in.

My first-born son was the child that fell through the cracks because he could speak and the vocabulary knowledge was extensive for a kid his age. He was not diagnosed until he was approximately eight years of age.  He had the hardest time transitioning in school and he was a very emotionally sensitive child that fought with the daily struggles of sensory override.  Meltdowns from tags, to seams, socks to shoes, and the money spent on softer clothes that he would only wear one time if we were lucky left us broke more times than one.  We took on this sacrifice with open arms and found that he enjoyed the water.  He felt free where nothing could hold him down and his frustration would dwindle.  The lack of help that he received in his early years would eventually take its toll. We would call him “The Hulk” because he would go from 1 to 10 in a matter of seconds and the rage was not something that he could control.  Hours later he would become my sweet little boy that would regret the hell that he had just unleashed.  He will be turning 16 this month and the rage is long gone, after years of therapy; my son is “a lover and not a fighter.”  He is the musician, the rocker, the young teenage boy that loves to jump into the ocean water, where she will not judge him, and where he is cleansed and  free of all that held him down.

The Lifeguard Tower Photograph by Karen Zea

         There are vivid images of my crazy aunt that would scoop me up in her arms as young as four and five, only to walk me out into the ocean as far as she could go because she could not swim, and just like that, let me go.  I was the “quiet girl” who would not say anything, your secret was safe with me, but I was submerged in fear as I remember my little hands reaching out above and all I could see were countless waves and white ocean foam passing over me…and another…and another…not knowing when I would make it to the shore and not knowing if I could hold my breath long enough to make it this time….the memories always end there…no resolution and no reason as to why. Everything in town “Loco” is kept on the “low pro”, on the “hush–hush“if you know what I mean. Our skeletons, accompanied by years of loyal dust and cobwebs stay in our family’s  closet where they belong and where we should never speak of them…”girl you should know your place”.  Later on as an adult, I was shocked to find out that I had not been the only one to suffer my aunt’s strange ways.  My younger sister by one year and seven months of age would live to tell of the same horrific encounters with the same lady that now seems like she couldn’t hurt a fly…wink…wink…

The Marina and her Companions Photograph by Karen Zea

The trips to the Marina or Pike symbolized companionship.  This place that my “daddy” would take me, where each boat had a friend and they were not lost, confused,  or alone. He was my hero and my savior all in one, the man with the patience to calm the seas for this quiet little Latino girl that felt that she had no place here nor there.  I struggled with so much confusion on who I was in this world, I struggled with emotions and being able to work through them all the time.  I am caught crying in most of my childhood photographs and all I can remember is that he was my anchor.  His love for boats and just being close to the seawater fueled my love for photographing the water, boats, and capturing the beauty and detail of the much older buildings surrounding Long Beach.  It has all contributed to who I am today and who I will be tomorrow; always no matter where I live because we will always, as a family, make the drive out to the soothing beach water.