Clambake at Dewey Beach
Owl Meat says he has no Funtastic Thursday for Beach Week, and in fact doesn't particularly like beaches, so he's letting Amanda C. write a guest post for his guest post spot. Here she is. EL
My stepbrother says that Clambake is his favorite Elvis movie. That seems odd to me, since my first memory of a clambake involved him, and my first success at thwarting his tyranny (not to be my last).
Our families were, as they say now, blending, and all of a sudden I had two stepbrothers. One of them was a sweet grumpy little boy named Liam who was three years younger than me. I nicknamed him "Bear." The other was Bobby, an obstreperous boy slightly older than me. We just didn't get along.
So we all went to Dewey Beach, Del. Previous outings were iffy at best. Bobby was either moody/sullen or mischievous/mean. Boys! I adored four-year-old Liam, because, well just because. The Other One was a major pain. ...
I didn't know what a clambake was, but it sounded fun. The adults dug a pit to build a fire in the sand. I took Bear on a walk down the beach with my ever-present little yellow transistor radio. I taught him to dance to my true love Andy Gibb's "Shadow Dancing." As darkness fell, the fire was blazing and the adults brought a big metal steamer down to the beach.
It seemed to take forever for us kids. Bobby was being bothersome and on a dare allowed himself to be buried in the sand. Aunt Helen and Uncle Ronnie helped dig the hole. By now it was dark and the only light was from the bonfire and the moon. Bear and I gleefully scooped sand around him until he was just a head in the sand. Now the adults were salivating over mesh bags of corn, potatoes, and clams that filled the air with delicious ripe aromas. Clams on the beach. How perfect is that? Oh yeah, and birch beer in glass bottles.
Bobby refused to admit defeat, struggling to escape, trying to wriggle himself out. This was my grand opportunity, because he hated clams. The food was portioned out onto plates. Bear and I chomped down on stubby broken corn, little taters and juicy clams. The corn was extra tasty because the clams gave it some extra flavor oomph. By this time Bear was positively gleeful to see his older brother in his predicament.
In short order I tormented Bobby with clams, and there was nothing he could do. Eat them or stay buried. He didn't dare call out and admit that a mere girl had bested him. But I did. And that's why Clambake is also my favorite Elvis movie. Now Bobby loves clams, but won't even try an oyster. Stay tuned as Operation Oyster commences this summer.