“I’ve got an idea,” my mother said. “Since I’m the only one who really needs to take a nap, how about you two go out and swim while I lie down?”

My father gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure?”

“I think I’ll be okay taking a nap by myself. My two boys should just enjoy themselves. Come and wake me up when it’s time to go for dinner.”

—

I stretched out on the lounge chair. My father was asleep in the chair beside me. Apparently my mother wasn’t the only one who needed a nap. The canvas of the cabana gave us protection from the sun, but there was no wind, and the heat was building. It had to be over ninety degrees. The only relief would be another dip in the ocean.

I got up and made a quick run across the open beach, the sand burning the bottoms of my feet until I reached the water. It was cooler than the sand, but still pretty warm. It felt more like taking a bath than swimming in an ocean. I waded out a dozen feet, the water just above my knees, and then slumped down so my whole body was under the water as I sat on the bottom, the waves bobbing me up and down. It was important not to be directly exposed to the sun in the first few days. My sister had done that once and paid the price—a bad burn that almost ruined the rest of her trip.

I sat there looking out at the ocean. It was a brilliant bluish-green color, so beautiful that it almost didn’t seem real. I wasn’t much for looking at scenery, but that ocean view was really something.

As far as I could see in either direction there were only a few other people in the water and a few more on the beach. That wasn’t unusual. The heat and sun in the middle of the day drove people off the beach and into the shade. People who wanted to be in the water would often sit in the pool instead, shaded by umbrellas, and order drinks or snacks from the bar. I had nothing against a cold drink—actually, I could have gone for a Coke right about then—but there was something pretty amazing about being in the ocean. There was something pretty amazing about just being here.

In one short day we’d come halfway around the world. We’d left behind the cold and snow and crowds and concrete of New York City and landed on a sunny, hot beach at a tropical island resort. It was like another world.

I got up and ran across the blazing-hot sand to the cabana, where I plopped back down in the lounge chair. My father let out a big yawn and stretched and then opened his eyes.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I left my watch behind at home with my ski jacket. I think it’s about five.”