Sea Isle City, New Jersey

It’s August 3. My mother’s birthday. Standing in the surf, my youngest son this morning said to me: “What would you do if you could breathe underwater and live there under deep pressure the rest of your life?” “I would eat more fish, I think.” “You could explore the Mariana Trench,” he corrected me.

My brother-in-law Matt came down with his two sons to join us. The boys splashed and hollered in the rough sea. The red flag was put up by the lifeguards today. The fathers talked about how much easier it got each year. When the kids were babies or toddlers you had to stop them from eating sand or chasing sandpipers all the way north on the beach until they reached Strathmere, and prevent them from drowning or otherwise soothe them so they didn’t ruin everyone else’s time. Matt and I have been doing this trip with our wives and their extended family since before we each married in and before the family really extended. We’re now a much larger tribe: Christofalos, Marseks, Torettas, Komosinskis and Doughertys. I spent the morning thinking a lot about my last name and what it means.

I watched my nine-year-old son pick up a boogie board for the first time and........

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