I run down the boardwalk, not worrying about getting splinters in my tender feet. Every ten or fifteen feet I stop, sometimes to smell the salty sea air, but mostly to wait for my parents who plod along behind carrying chairs, coolers, and other beach paraphernalia. I yell back to them to hurry, and they reply that I can run ahead and find a good spot. I yelp with glee and run as fast as my little legs will carry me. I stop where the dark, brown of the boardwalk meets the light, white of the beach. My dad warned me about how hot the sand ....