A Post-Racial Beach

I've been spending time at my neighborhood beach now that summer has finally arrived. I was first introduced to "The Inkwell" when I was fourteen. My BFF Jane from Junior High invited me to her family's summer home on Martha's Vineyard Island. Our days were spent at the beach hanging out with other kids who were "summer dinks" or local (year-round) islanders. The locals initiated us by requiring us to eat (raw!) a sweetmeat from the quarterdeck shells which covered the rocks on the jetties. It was a summer of Coppertone, Red Sox games on the radio and budding attraction to members of the opposite sex. Attraction only - remember this was the fifties.

The most noticable thing about the neighborhood beach was that some of the kids we jumped off the raft with were Negro - that's what they called themselves then. It was the first time I actually related to someone whose skin was a different color than mine. In the way of children, it was no big deal.

Fast forward through civil rights demonstrations, assassinations, wars, riots, elections, etc. to the current day. I am now a Martha's Vineyard local (a washashore of 30+ years) returning to that childhood beach. Long ago it was labeled "The Inkwell" pejoratively because it was the beach where black vacationers were welcome. Somehow the ugly name has been coopted into one of pride. Tee shirts abound proclaiming "The Inkwell" as the beach of choice. It's narrow, rocky and close to the road; the only amenity is a lifeguard stand - no bathrooms or showers. It faces Vineyard Sound, on a clear day you can see the Cape, and the waves are nonexistant - perfect for toddlers.

So yesterday, a few weeks before the vacation arrival of our first African American President, I sat on Inkwell Beach surrounded by persons of every color from the ebony two-year-old with cornrows and colorful beads in her hair to the flabby ivory guy from Dorchester. White and black teenagers still horsed around in the water. Ladies of a certain age swapped beach reading recommendations. Hugs and hellos and shy smiles are the currency of my neighborhood beach, it hasn't changed at all in over fifty years.