This is a public letter for my brother Murray. Other readers
may chuckle but only he can truly appreciate the shades of this brief
biographical episode. It was a hot Ontario summer Saturday. We were kids. Dad
worked in a factory all week. Wasaga Beach was and is a popular attraction,
both for the great stretches of white sand and the foody nightspots. It was a
2.5 hour trip from St. Catharines. My dad and mom decided to take Murray and I
and my uncle Bill and aunt Ruth for the day. Uncle and Aunt were newly weds. Change
rooms were a distance from the car that was parked as they all were on the
sand. Murray and I were out of our street clothes and into trunks within
seconds. After some adult discussion, a decision was made, and I watched as
Uncle Bill and Aunt Ruth entered the rear car doors and pinched towels at the
top of each window, and changed together. My juvenile mind tried to grasp the
notion of them squirming to undress and redress in the back seat of dad’s car. That
was a modest lesson in my primer for life. Riding in the back seat of dad’s car
was never without that flashback, made more amusing today as I think of my
dignified uncle and aunt now in their early eighties.
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