Myrtle Beach Memories

When I was little we used to go to the Aloha in Myrtle beach. it was a two story hotel that my aunt and uncle owned. my grandfather used to own it. across the street was a river city cafe dad would always tell us his father also used to own a hotel right there called the seashell.

We would have thanksgiving at the aloha which was always awesome. there was so much food always at leased one fried turkey and all sorts of desserts. most of my family would be there and then tons of random people that didn’t have another place to go. the little cousins would all play football.

in the summers and and john michael or me and laurel would get to CROSS THE STREET by OURSELVES and go to the convenience store and buy candy! or sometimes we could eat breakfast at the Snak Shack which was at the Aloha i would play in the ocean or play in the pool.

I went to a wedding at camp last weekend about halfway through the weekend i realized my “campsickness” was gone but i still missed something. I was “homesick.” It is strange to be homesick when I am 20. The fact that after camp I didn’t even bother to unpack in my own home because I knew I was leaving. It is strange that I actually still miss Myrtle Beach, not just my family there, but the smell of the ocean, and the sound of the waves and the restaurants and sometimes even all the signs.

So I went home. One fun thing about living in a tourist town is that I get to stop at visitor’s centers and get free drinks and popcorn. I stayed home for a few days. I went to the beach and my favorite restaurants. I would have the urge to go see my grandmother at Covenant Towers, and then I would remember, that she isn’t there anymore (she died this summer.) I would always go see her, it wasn’t always something I wanted to do, but I always tried to go see her. It is weird that that isn’t on my list of things I need to do when I go home. 1. Go to the beach. 2. Eat at Akels. 3. nope. It makes me sad.

As I was driving around the 70s avenues, I realized the Aloha used to be here. One day I will take my kids to Myrtle Beach (or I may live there who knows) and I will tell them stories just like my dad told me. Not about selling seashells door by door, or annoying people staying in the hotel, but of how the game room was always cold in the winter, or how the pool table was broken, so you didn’t have to pay you just pulled a lever, or the shuffle board game that we never played correctly (which always annoyed me). I will have my own stories. It is strange that Myrtle Beach is home.