“Six, seven, eight,” my 14-year-old son, Nick, mumbled under his breath. We picked our way through the jumble of tanned and sunburned bodies reclining alongside the turquoise water of the Caribbean.

“You can’t possibly be thinking about math right now,” I said, my head full of island life.

“Hardly,” he scoffed.

I let it go, enjoying the sand and the surf and the thousands of other spring-breakers sprawled before us. For a family that thinks the rocky shore of Jackson Lake in Wyoming is a beach vacation, this trip was a long-awaited and much anticipated break.

“Ben, I’m up to 12,” Nick said slyly as he caught up with his younger brother.

“Fourteen,” Ben announced proudly.

“What in the world are you guys doing?” I asked.

“Counting all the topless sunbathers,” they both replied nonchalantly.

Sure enough, one quick look at the beach instead of the waves and I could see the unexpected interest in math. Times two.

When you spend most of your life in a parka, it’s easy to be impressed with a sudden smorgasbord of flesh. Especially girls’ flesh.

And while I realize it’s all very European and we Americans are seen as prudes when it comes to covering up, the sight of these bathing beauties solicited more than a passing glance. Personally, I rather like the barefaced (or should I say bare-chested?) bravado that comes with being able to stride confidently in your birthday suit. Still, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep my top on.

Watching my sons take such an obvious interest in the opposite sex made me realize once more that they are indeed hurtling toward adulthood at the speed of light.

I was hit with a sudden memory of me, standing in the bathroom curling my hair as a then-5-year-old Nick stood watching, wide-eyed. “I have to pay attention so when I grow up and marry Rose I’ll know what to do,” he’d said sweetly. Rose was our neighbor girl whose hair, I’m quite certain, he wouldn’t care one iota about curling now. Unless perhaps she was baring all on a beach. Back then, he’d been intently observing how women behaved, knowing one day he’d have to navigate the strange and wonderful world of females; and if by chance it involved a curling iron, well then by goodness he’d be ready.

The memory mingled with the reality of his more grown-up self grinning now at each new sighting on shore. The innocence of a 5-year-old boy chipped away in favor of more teenage pursuits.

We walked on, miles of sand stretching before us, in search of a quiet spot to call our own. Either the boys lost count, or I stopped paying attention. “Maybe it’s good for them to get it all out of their system,” I suggested to my husband.

He looked at me with a bemused smile, all knowing (he is after all, a boy). “You think this is getting it OUT of their systems?”

Then again, maybe not.



Charla Belinski bares her soul every other Sunday in the Glenwood Springs Post Independent. Contact her at Belinskis@comcast.net.