“Sherry, Sherry baby” booms as I dance with my cousins on sandy floors, with our feet blistered and faces freshly red with the aftereffect of the sun. We twist our way in and out the opened doors of what we call home for the early week of July. The salmon-colored camp we turn into our dance studio at night is overflowing with people, but that does not stop us from making memories under “Where the Bright Moon Shines.” As I try to avoid mosquitos and nails coming from the wood on the deck, I spot our neighbors next door. They enjoy the music from their own porch and even start to make their way over to join. I can smell the freshly made brownies that my grandma pulls out the oven. I can overhear the TV, in the front room, where my grandpa tends to find residence in his ancient recliner. We are having the time of our lives, with no cares in the world. We were completely naive of the intimacy we would lose and the changes of perspective we would gain as our family grew apart.

When I hear the first hum of a song by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, I am instantly brought back to some of my favorite nights. I can smell the salty air, catch a glimpse of red white and blue fireworks, and even taste the instant satisfaction from freshly boiled crab. I am brought back to the times where I danced like no one was watching while laughing and singing with my family members. At the time, those were the best days and moments of my life. I was young, happy, and unafraid of the future. For those few days in July, my extended family on my dad’s side dropped all troubles at home and came together in Grand Isle to celebrate the birth of America as a free nation. At that age, I thought my life would always be this way: family-oriented, carefree, and blissful. I was so happy with my life that I never imagined a world without my family or these happy moments that we shared. My ignorance as a child was truly bliss to the point where I never knew that memories fade, reality sets in, and a life surrounded with family tends to become a life focused on one’s self.

As I have grown older, these memories stayed as memories of the past and were never recreated again. I was so young and in love with my life, that I never believed that anything could come in and mess it up. At that age, I believed my life would always be filled with Frankie Valli songs and fun times at the beach. However, now that I am older, I see that at some point we have to grow up and our family will not always be there to fill us with joy. As the years have passed, my cousins grew older, some family members have passed away, and I learned there was never really much to idolize about my aunts and uncles. I grew up, and so did everyone else. As I learned the true colors of my family members and we all began to focus on our own lives, the times we shared became memories of the past. This split in my family is most certainly common. We Rinks are not the only ones to be plagued by old age, death, reality, and a loss of interest in one another. This is common with most families and even relationships. Just like relationships, families have honeymoon phases, and they do not always last. Now, some people have happy families for their whole life or no family life at all, but that does not mean they have never experienced a loss of intimacy. This loss is one that my family has faced, and is a dreaded affect that comes with growing up and gaining a greater sense of who people are.

As I have grown from child to young adult, I have gained different and much more realistic views of the life I once had with my family. I was vulnerable and young, and living my youthful years in joy. But through the years, I have watched my family unravel and witnessed our growth apart. Like our family, most people face this loss of intimacy more than once in their life. Whether it be from a new sense of knowledge, a growth in distance, or just self-interests, we all go through a point in our lives when certain memories stay in the past. Our perspectives change and all we have left is the feeling we once felt when in the moment. One way or another, we learn that the music and lyrics will have to come to a stop, but that does not mean we will forget how to dance.