The water was always clear and there was never any sand – real white sand. The one beach on our “tropical paradise” was a beach names “the Ferry Landing.” We had been stationed on the rock known as Gitmo – known to the rest of the world as Guantanamo Bay, Cuba for the last two years with at least another two in our sites. Family day consisted of a jaunt to the beach or the pool, cleaning rooms, picnics, whatever the mood struck. For 40 miles of space including the bay, there was only so much one could do with their free time. My mother and father always seemed to be creative. A day at the beach was always something fun and exciting, even when it was just our family who went. For only 40 miles we certainly had a number of beaches to choose from. Each coined with a cute nickname for some physical characteristic. Glass Beach was named that because it was the best beach for snorkeling and diving. Once you were snorkeling, you could go to the bottom of the water, where a multitude of worn, smoothed glass shards danced in the light under the waves.
My brother would collect these great treasures and put them in a cup. My mother would ooo and ahh over them like a good mother would and then when unloading our gear and treasures from the day she would gently and slyly discard my brother’s treasure chest of a cup until the next adventure to Glass Beach, when he would do it all over again.
On one particularly quiet Saturday my family, consisting of Ma and Pop, my 5 year-old younger brother William, and I, loaded a lunch and our beach gear in our car and took off for Ferry Landing beach.
Ferry landing beach was the only beach on the windward side of the island that had sand. There were a few beaches on the leeward side but you mostly had to take a boat to get to those. The Ferry Landing was the port for the ferry that took you from the windward side to the leeward side. A bay of water separates Gitmo. The majority of the families along with the commissary, Navy Exchange, movie amphitheater, pools, and the McDonald’s were on the Windward side of the island. On the Leeward side of the island, freedom lay in wait. The airport, along with military combat training was located on this side of the island. Guantanamo great to live there, but everyone missed the comforts of the main land. So unless you were on your way to the airport or your neighborhood was called to travel for Defex (practice for when Castro could attack), you pretty much stayed windward.
The other appealing aspect of Ferry Landing Beach was where the brine overflow and wastewater concentrated water would drain back into the ocean from the desalinization plant that made our water as drinkable. The best water you’ve ever tasted. I, to this day, have never tasted water as clean and sweet as the water there. It was a large long spout averaging at about 7 feet in width that sent warm water back out. It was like going to a hot spring to lounge in the water. You could float off its current and the amount of salt.
This particular Saturday my family and I were floating in the current, laughing and joking around. My mother, who has always and remains, squeamish sat perched on my father’s lap. My brother and I were bouncing childishly around them. The sun was high and the sky as always was so blue you felt you could get lost in it. We looked out from the shore and saw lots of splashes.
“Gary, what is that?” My mother asked a little on edge already.
“Oh, it’s just a school of fish being chased by some Red Snapper.” My father answered her, tightening his grip around her.
My brother and I thought it was cool.
“Ok, well I am going in. I don’t like fish.” She tried to get away from my father’s tight grip around her, but he wouldn’t budge.
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