The Cape? It's awesome.
My grandparents own a house on the Cape (they also own two houses in Vermont. Yes, I know). For years, when I was a kid, we'd go and stay there for a week or a weekend, as a family; we'd play on the beach, sail in my dad's Sunfish, grill burgers for dinner, and go mini-golfing. It was awesome.
And then I stopped going. At first, it was because the only week or weekend that my dad could get was the one week or weekend the entire summer where I couldn't go. The pattern continued for at least a few years; my siblings would invite friends to join them, and I'd be stuck like some loser in the suburbs. So not cool.
And then I stopped talking to my dad, and the use of all of the vacation houses sort of ended. After all, I hated skiing, so I had no reason to go to the Vermont house (by the way, this is still true). And I really had no idea how to go about using the Cape house, and I certainly didn't feel entitled to its use. After all, my paternal grandparents owned it, and I wasn't talking to the pater. Interesting. My siblings would still go (my brother with friends, my sister with our dad or friends). I did not.
Finally, this year, I managed to secure a weekend. I hadn't been to the Cape in 10 years, so I had to ask weird questions about the house (the beach was still private, right? Could we build a bonfire? How do you use the grill? Where can we go if we run out of food? Is the washing machine working? How many beds are there?). But in the end, four of my friends came with me, and we headed out to the Cape.
It. Was. Awesome.
I've brought back with me s'more fixings, a slight sunburn, about 20 bugbites, considerable quantities of sand, clean laundry, and my brother's iPhone charger. And now, I'm wondering when I can next go to the Cape, relax on the beach, chill with my friends, and really feel like we're all alone in the world.