There was a time when America’s young people took advantage of a thing called Spring Break and headed, en masse, to Florida, namely Ft. Lauderdale. The movie and song, Where the Boys Are, captured that experience.
As a sophomore at the University of North Carolina, I also headed to Florida on spring break, but not to Ft. Lauderdale. Rather, my roommate, Bob Payet, and I headed for Indian Lake Estates, his parents’ home. We drove all day and night to get there, but we were in Florida on a genuine Spring Break, the weather was enchanting, and life was good.
On the second day, I borrowed a fishing rod from Bob and headed to one of the community lakes. Naturally, I just wore swimming trunks and no shirt in order to soak up all the rays possible. I stretched out on one of the benches on a pier and dozed off. When I woke, I could feel a little tingle on my lily-white skin, but I wasn’t concerned. I tanned easily.
That afternoon, Bob lined me up with a cute blind date and we drove to nearby Vero Beach and spent the rest of the day on the beach and in the sun. It was a little overcast, so I wasn’t concerned.
However.
The sun in Florida is not like the sun in Virginia or North Carolina. It is a merciless ball of fire that packs quite a punch. When we got home and were taking a shower, Bob noted that I looked a little like a boiled lobster he had for dinner recently. I was redder than a red beet. I could barely stand the pain of pulling on an Izod polo shirt. I was in agony. With every move, I suffered.
By the time we headed back to school, my redness had turned to tan-ness. I looked like George Hamilton on steroids – a golden brown. Girls that would not give me the time of day at Carolina remarked at my great tan – which lasted about two days. Then I peeled, not just bits of skin, but thick chunks of skin. My tan-ness became whiteness again and I was back to normal.
But I won’t forget that Spring Break in Florida. I remember plucking a ripe orange from one of the trees in Bob’s yard and squeezing it for juice for breakfast. I remember having my line snapped in two by a giant bass I hooked on the pier. I remember visiting the Dodger’s training camp at Vero Beach and running the bases, just for kicks. And I remember for a few days, at least, having the best tan I’ve ever had in my life.