Coney Island Tales plus Parking Car Digression

My father grew up in sight of the Coney Island Roller Coasters.   He took me there pretty often as a kid.   (This wasn't an obvious destination, since we lived way over in New Jersey, and could go to Palisades Park or Olympic Park, much closer.)   I'm guessing he had a hog in front of that judge for those trips.

One time my mother was away for some reason in the summer and we went.   I remember riding the big coaster.   My father wouldn't ride.   I was petrified, mostly because I was so small, the safety bars didn't exactly hold me tight.   In fact I got kind of knocked around on the ride.   This was also my first burying in sand experience.   I did my dad, and then he did me.   The last (ouch) memory is that we both got real sunburned.  He said we looked like lobsters.   Seems like the cure when we got home was serial ice water baths.

We also went regularly to fourth of July at Coney Island.   For whatever reason, that was also just me and my Dad.   I hardly remember the fireworks which were off a barge in the water.  What I remember most was what we called Coney Island corn.   Sweet as candy, slathered in butter, and eaten on a stick.   What is the appeal to kids of finger food?  I also remember that one time after the fireworks, we had trouble finding where we parked the car.   Is there anyone who has gone a lifetime without that irritating experience.

Parking car digression:
My high school girl friend's parents didn't like her going out with me because I was Jewish.   She was brought up protestant, but turned out her family was originally Moslem.  They were trying to assimilate, and I wasn't helping.   She was banned from going out with me.   Well we found all kinds of ways to get around that....mostly friends of mine picking her up.   Once we drove into NYC to hear Beethoven's 9th in Central Park.   I can remember the Ode to  Joy echoing off the surrounding buildings!   Anyway, when we got done, we couldn't remember where we parked the car (a 1948 Plymouth.)   We were getting pretty uptight about getting her home, so in the end we had to hire a taxicab to go up and down the streets on the East side of Central Park until we found the car.

Another time we went out and so were the parents...so we parked my car a few blocks from her house and I sneaked in.   We were kissing on the couch when the parents came in, one from the front, one from the back door.   They had spotted my car.   I remember them saying how disappointed they were.   The next day the mother called my mother to seek an ally in banning us from seeing each other.   WRONG THING TO  DO!  She got an earful from a jewish mother turned tiger.   Just the hint that her son wasn't good enough for the girl....well you can guess.   Plus my mother knew enough to tell her this kind of parental interference was not appropriate and sure not to work.

Back to Coney Island:

I also remember once standing in front of Nathan's hotdogs and dropping my hotdog on the boardwalk.   I had picked up food off the ground before, but this seemed especially gross, given the hoards that passed those boards.  For some reason I struggled over whether to pick it up and eat it or not.   In the end I can only remember the sadness of dropping it and the consternation over whether I should eat that hot dog off the ground.

My father distracted me with a Coney Island story about his father.   Grandpa Becker was "observant" and kept strictly kosher.   My Dad said one day, as a kid, he was walking on the Coney Island Boardwalk and caught site of Grandpa eating lobster in front of Nathan's.   I was made to understand that this was a huge scandal, and perhaps even a Shonde!