I may have had my last Kohr Bros this summer.
The Jersey shore gets a bad rap– for somewhat valid reasons– but it’s a nuanced place full of complex, vitamin D addicted humans just like anywhere else. It’s where I learned to surf; where we flocked after prom to drink Four Loko; it’s the location of a mysterious false memory I have in which my little sister wears an eye patch; and it’s where my family founded cherished traditions like glow-stick frolics and a very precise dishwashing playlist that always starts with “Play That Funky Music White Boy”, collectively growing stronger and sillier and more in love with one another year after year.
With two major matriarchs now in the south, we’ll be diversifying our seaside reunion locales. The traditions will continue, the memories will fade, but OC, NJ will always have a place in my heart.
