CoolIt's a real scorcher out there --so they say...I'm sure Philly, Cherry Hill, New York or wherever you find yourself is hot and uncomfortable. We wouldn't know, here in Margate.  We're praying for you though.

Why not get the kids together and jump in the car? Destination: Absecon Island -- Margate, Atlantic City, Ventnor, Longport. Ocean temps have been heavenly as has been the "eye-candy" on the beach. What could be more visually stimulating than Lucy the Elephant from a strategically placed lounge chair on our ever-popular Washington Avenue "thong beach."

I've come a l-o-n-g way since those unforgivably hot summers without air conditioning plaguing my adolescent years. There was no such thing as the shore back then. For reasons beyond my father's control (alcohol and competitive cock fighting), we never traveled beyond the city limits most summers.

I've got to hand it to him though. My father had some reasonably affordable ideas for keeping us 8 kids entertained while reform school was in summer recess.  Family Fun Day, every third Sunday was filled with excitement. Two of my old man's favorite Fun Days included: tarring the driveway or if we were lucky and Butch won his fight the previous night, being allowed to cool off on the tomb stones in the grave yard behind the house.

Believe-you-me, my quality of life has improved dramatically since I was asked to leave the house that memorable Christmas morning. Margate is heaven to me. The restaurants, the beach, the good times.

And most of all, I no longer have to contend with the hassle of spending innumerable Sunday afternoons in the local emergency room while one of us eight kids got an arm or leg casted, the result of the dreaded frisbee competitions we were forced to participate in at the monthly family picnic in the graveyard behind the house.  

I recall fondly, Dad ranting and raving that any hopes of the full ride he'd been planning for me to a Division 1 frisbee powerhouse was quickly fading.  But I've got to hand it to him. My old man never seemed to give up hope in me and the possibility of eventual fame and riches as a pro thrower. To this day, despite the Alzheimer's, my old man recognizes me when I visit. I know he still recognizes me, because he'll see me and start yelling , "Jump, you moron. Jump!"

Yeah, life is less complicated now here in Margate.