If you are Jersey born and bred, you know “down the shore” means anywhere along the Jersey Atlantic coastline. For my family it meant Ocean City, New Jersey, where my dad wore plaid Bermuda shorts, black socks and safety shoes for two glorious weeks. I believe one summer he bought sandals. I would collect shells and leave deceased sea creatures in buckets at the bottom of the wooden steps. They led up to a dingy beach rental that had a lot of chenille, plastic flowers and a Formica dining set. I always got a vicious sunburn and lost a day to sunpoisoning agony. Peeling it all off when we got home was always something to look forward to, though.This piece is a digital collage of my memories.

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